


And the World Spins Madly On

by AeeDee



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Character Death, Depression, F/M, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Marriage, Masturbation, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 03:12:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeeDee/pseuds/AeeDee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prompt for the <a href="http://yj-anon-meme.livejournal.com/">YJ anon meme</a>, where an anon asked for an AU where Iris Allen meets an early death, and Wally does his best to comfort a devastated Barry.  They wanted special emphasis on Wally as Barry's "wife", with a heavy theme of comfort and attempting a normal life, despite everything that's happened. </p><p>The title is from a song by The Weepies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the World Spins Madly On

For the first time in his life, Barry Allen was effectively speechless.

He received the news in a quiet hospital room, the doctor’s voice accompanied by the eerie humming of machines in the walls.

He didn’t need to be told; he already knew. He’d realized it the minute she stopped breathing, the instant he squeezed her hand and didn’t feel her respond. Her eyes remained closed, since her chest had stopped mid-fall. In those milliseconds he watched in agony, because when the world slowed down he realized how extremely still she was.

But he held his composure. He gave a slow nod. He held back a sob and cleared his throat to ease the tension. He clasped his hands together to keep them from shaking. There wasn’t much else after that. The silence in the room, the curious sound of one less person breathing. The doctor’s voice, sympathetic, wise.

He tried to talk, but no sound came out. So instead he nodded. Spent what felt like forever in that room, sitting beside her bed. Minutes that felt like hours. Precious seconds where it was just him and her, for as long as he could remain beside her before they politely escorted him out.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He promised her a lifetime, and he was a powerful enough man to guarantee the dream. He could bend the rules of physics, the rules of time; how had he missed this? How did he let this happen…

He dropped his guard, for one wrong assumption. One wrong mantra of, “She can take care of herself”. Well, maybe she can, but that doesn’t mean the other driver could tell Left from Right, or see worth a damn.

He knew she could. _Could._

He felt the tears falling when he stepped out into the hallway, but he didn’t bother hiding them. The act would prove futile; even as he wiped at them with his hands, trembling hands, unsteady hands as he heard the reassuring voices, faint voices of comfort from the few that came to meet with him. The few that came for a chance to see her before she left the world. There’s an arm around his shoulders, but he didn’t know whose it was; didn’t look.

It’s not a strong grip, but it didn’t matter; he politely thanked them, an incoherent mumble that’s a bit too rushed to make any sense.

And he kept himself steady as he walked down the hallway, resisted the urge to run away. Because there was nowhere to go, anyway. Nowhere he would find her. Not this time.

When he arrived home, to a house decorated with her things, the scent of the breakfast she’d cooked lingering in the room; when he took his seat at the abandoned kitchen table, where he’d first heard the news via telephone and fled like the wind, hoping that if he got there fast enough…

His voice was hoarse from crying, when he heard a hesitant knock on the door. Quiet, like the hand on the other side was afraid.

It felt awful to move, stiff and tense, but he still reached it in something resembling his usual time. Opened the door to see wide eyes on the other side, staring up at him with the kind of raw emotion few others could ever manage. The kind of emotion that’s too genuine to be insincere.

The boy’s voice a clumsy tumble, as a blush slowly spread across his face, “I’msorryifI’mbotheringyou but I was thinking you could use some company so I’mhereforyou.”

Barry responded with a hand on his shoulder, an exhausted but small smile at the edge of his lips. It hurt to make the expression, but… “Thank you,” his throat burned so much he couldn’t even add the usual _kid_ at the end.

But he didn’t need to; Wally was returning a smile to him, cautious but sincere, so sincere.

Barry didn’t know what ever made this kid so brave.

Even though they sat mostly in silence, the television a quiet hum in the background, he found some relief in talking to him about his day at school. It was nice, even for a couple of hours, to imagine that it was not real, that his world was still normal and that he was not about to fall apart.

It was nice to pretend, even for that tiny amount of time. Hours that felt like days, in exactly the way he wanted. The way he needed them to. He’d never thought it’d feel so nice to hear someone else’s voice.

But when that warm presence, his unexpectedly pleasant company left for the evening…

His world promptly resumed collapsing.

-

Wally can’t imagine what Barry was going through. Not at all.

He’s encountered death before. Significant acquaintances that died in the line of duty, doing what they loved. Distant relatives he’d never known extremely well. A dog, when he was little. A classmate from school once, who committed suicide. Death existed. He knows what it is.

But he’s never felt it like this, and he’s certain that whatever he feels, Barry is enduring worse.

He cried when they gave him the news. He didn’t make a big show of it, but that didn’t mean his face wasn’t a mess.

Iris. _Iris._ Why her, of all people…

She was like a mother to him; on most days she was his mother, because she loved him unconditionally, she loved him genuinely and honestly and with more compassion than he’d ever known.

The pain has begun to set in; it took a few hours. Unlike Barry, he didn’t feel it immediately. It took a few hours to realize she was gone, and that he’d have to die with any regrets he still had, anything he’d always wanted to say to her, and never found the chance for.

Things like, _Thank you for always being there for me_ and _I love you_.

He’d said _I love you_ before. But somehow it didn’t feel sincere enough. It wasn’t strong enough when he did, because he was laughing and rushing out the door and he didn’t know if she took him all that seriously.

But he consoled himself by thinking that Barry probably told her every day. Somehow, that made it better, made it easier to deal with. Because if there was anyone that deserved to hear it…

Barry told her every day, because Barry loved her so much, and _Oh God_ how does he feel now-

He returns to Mount Justice the day after the funeral, just like he promised he would. When he arrives to the tune of _Recognized, B03, Kid Flash_ , he’s greeted with empty stares. No one knows what to say. He’s startled by a faint outcry, a sorrowful, “Oh, Wally,” from Megan as she rushes towards him.

He doesn’t react the way he normally would. He doesn’t crack a smile. He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t blush. When she hugs him, he stiffly reaches an arm around her shoulder to return the gesture.

Dick is clarifying the obvious, his voice surprisingly quiet, “We heard the news.” Wally didn’t realize he was capable of speaking that softly.

“Yeah,” is really all he can say. He’s not comfortable enough yet to discuss it. Doesn’t even know where he’d begin. All of his thoughts start with sadness and regret and end with anguish and fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of a life without Iris. Fear of how this will change him. Fear of how this will change Barry.

He can’t stop thinking about him. Can’t stop worrying, thinking that he’s suffering right now, he might be alone in that house, he’s too proud to ask for help, he needs someone-

“Wally,” Megan’s voice is tiny as she looks up at him, relaxing her embrace.

Wally notices her concern, but he doesn’t know what to do about it.

“Wally,” she pauses, her bottom lip giving a slight tremble, “Are you crying?”

He gives an inadvertent hiss, and looks away. She withdraws back. He wipes at the corner of his eye with a shaking hand, and yes, _God_ , he is. Not again, not-

Dick’s voice again, “It’s okay.” A brief pause. “We understand.”

 _Do you?_ But Wally knows that thought was selfish, of course they do, of course Dick of all people, Dick understands better than most people…

He finds himself thinking that Dick would be an ideal person to talk about this with. That maybe he’d have some advice for how to initially cope. That he’d know what to do with this soul-crushing, hurting, sinking sensation in his chest.

If he could be any better put-together, he’d confide in him.

“You don’t have to stay,” Dick’s telling him. “You can have the day off.”

When did this little boy grow up? When did he learn to speak like that, like his mentor. Ordering him around, deciding what’s best for him, looking maturely at the situation...

And from across the room, a booming voice, low and deep. “Go home, Kid Flash.”

Wally looks up towards the sound, startled because he hadn’t realized the man was in the room.

“We’ll handle everything here.”

-

 _Be with your family._ That was the next thing he said.

In his own way, Bruce was helping. He was offering what assistance he could, by making sure that Wally was able to take time to adequately assess and deal with his grief. But he doesn’t want to deal with it. He wants to run from it, to forget it, to spend time with his friends and delay that horrible experience for another few hours.

But the instant he politely agreed, thanked no one in particular and left, he wasn’t thinking about his grief anymore.

Barry.

The name that’s been on his mind all day. All week.

 _Barry_ ,

Ever since the man left the hospital room, his eyes more clouded and heavy than Wally had ever seen them. His shoulders low, his walk unsteady. Because Wally could process things faster, he could see the fractional sparks of imbalance and the missing coordination in every shift of his legs- He could hear the sudden and uneven breaks in his breathing-

When he reached an arm across his back, it was the first time in years that Barry hadn’t returned the gesture. It was the first time he hadn’t thanked his protégé, or laughed kindly at him, ruffling his hair, smiling in his general direction. It was the first time he received a cold shoulder, and nothing but a steady walk forward, as the man gradually slipped out of it.

Ordinarily, it would have hurt him. It would have hurt his feelings. But Wally wasn’t thinking about himself then.

Like now, as he’s running at full speed, traveling across a busy city, thinking that there’s no way to ease his mind except to arrive at that man’s front door, to make sure he’s okay, well he knows he’s not okay but to make sure he’s functioning, to see if he needs something, does he need to talk, is he-

He’s knocking at that door. And when it opens, he’s greeted with what almost looks like a smile. Even if the face peering down at him is exhausted and worn-down.

Barry’s voice is gentle but tired, “Hey, kid.”

At least the familiar _kid_ came back.

Wally’s smiling, to the best of his ability. “Hi, Uncle Barry.”

_I’m here for you._

-

Barry’s suggestion of a laugh is fragile and rough, but it feels better to try, than to be resist the urge. He’s only laughing at a dumb joke on tv, but it’s the first thing that’s brought him joy for the last several hours, so it counts. It matters. Because it’s the first thing that’s managed to make him happy today.

Well, one of the first things.

He steals a glance at his nephew, as he’s crawling across the couch, reaching for the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. He’s moving so slow lately. Barry starts to wonder if Wally’s feeling like him, feeling dragged down, heavy with a weight he can’t shake off. Barry wonders if it hurts him to move, hurts him to think, hurts him to exist right now.

Iris was precious to Barry; she was special. But he knows how much she meant to Wally, too. And with the boy’s age, he can only imagine what this must feel like. The world is more frightening, when you’re just a kid. Death is only an abstract concept, until it happens to you, really hits you.

It feels good to think about someone other than himself.

His eyes are still on him, as the boy settles back into the couch, pausing to glance back as Barry nervously looks away. Shouldn’t stare like that. It’s impolite. It’ll make him uncomfortable.

Barry leans over slightly, and reaches across the distance to slide a heavy arm around Wally’s shoulders; feels the boy tense up beneath him as he tugs him closer, tense up for a few breaths. Tense, tense; Wally shifts himself around, moves closer, so close Barry can hear him breathe. And starts to relax. Starts to relax, he’s breathing slower as he presses his face against the man’s shoulder.

It feels natural.

Barry murmurs something that’s on his mind, something painful but necessary. “You know Iris loved you, right.”

He feels Wally nod, and his body shakes, as he starts to cry.

But it’s okay. That’s why they’re here. That’s why they’re together.

Come Hell or high water, they’re going to weather the storm.

-

Wally’s mother doesn’t approve.

She doesn’t approve of many things. Parking fees. Cold lunches. Backtalk from her son. Pigeons. And lately, Wally’s new habit of, as she puts it, “Bothering Uncle Barry.”

“He needs time alone,” she says. “Let him grieve on his own.”

Wally doesn’t know what to say to that. Normally he’d have a quick response, a witty comeback. Normally he’d be able to issue out a quick defense.

But this time, he’s thinking she might be right. What does he know, anyway? He doesn’t know anything about grieving over someone; not like that. He doesn’t know what it feels like, to lose someone you love as deeply as Barry loved Iris.

So he sits still, and nods. Mumbles something about just going to visit his team after school, and that he’ll be home for dinner.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe Barry doesn’t need someone like him, to distract him from what matters most right now.

Whatever that is.

-

Time passes.

He doesn’t see him.

The emptiness in his heart is feeling heavier.

Barry hasn’t come by the house, since the incident. He doesn’t even call.

Maybe she’s right, after all. Maybe she’s right.

Or so he believes.

Three days of silence, he’s sitting with his friends at Mount Justice when his mind starts to wander. They have a mission tonight. They’ll travel halfway across the city. Near Barry’s house. Where he’s alone. Where he’s alone, probably watching tv, or falling asleep on the couch…

Is he okay. Did he remember to eat dinner. Is he as tired as he was the last time they saw each other. Is he even worse. Is he feeling better in any way. Did he remember to call his grief counselor…

He’s chewing on his bottom lip, grinding his teeth slowly as he finds himself unable to stop thinking. The thoughts race. Concerns and worries he can’t answer. He can’t answer any of them, without going there, without asking him, without finding out.

His mother said to mind his own business. She told him to keep to himself. Barry needs alone time, needs time to grieve, needs time to deal with his loss.

But somehow that doesn’t seem good enough.

“I have to go,” he suddenly says.

“Huh?” Dick asks, turning to face him.

“Just for a little bit. I’ll be right back.”

And he means that.

He just…

“Okay, sure,” Dick shrugs at him, downplaying his confusion.

He has to know.

-

When he knocks on the door, vaguely ashamed because he’s still in his uniform, there’s no answer. He starts to shiver from the cold air, and he’s thinking, _You idiot_ , as he tries to look inside the dark windows, _He’s probably out on a mission._

But as he’s turning to leave, the door opens.

When he turns back…

Barry’s standing there, hair disheveled, shirt partially unbuttoned. Darkness behind him, the darkness of no lights turned on inside the house, a darkness that makes him seem exhausted, exhausted as he’s barely able to stand. Wally’s eyes widen as he notices the tremor in his legs.

And all the man says is, “I’m sorry,” before he collapses on the floor.

-

It takes effort, but he manages to drag him towards the couch. Thankfully, once his body hits against the foot of it, Barry’s coming to his senses as he sits himself up and climbs onto it, with some assistance.

Wally has his cowl pulled back, his face wrought with concern beneath the freshly turned-on lights, as he’s quickly opening a box of what appears to be crackers—close enough, anyway—and sitting himself down on the edge of the cushion beside him.

Before Barry can question it, there’s a hand in his face, holding something that’s… edible.

“Youneedtoeat,” Wally manages, barely obscuring his concern. Chances are high that he’s not even trying. Not honestly.

Despite his circumstances, Barry finds it adorable. Endearing somehow, more than it should be.

Barry hesitantly reaches up and takes it from him—yep, a small cracker, as some of the salt peppers his fingers—and in two bites it’s gone. Before he can ask or look for the box, there’s another one being offered. And another. And another. And then the box, open and practically tossed into his lap.

Wally finally starts to relax, with a slow sigh as his eyes drift away, for the first time in what feels like minutes. He’s peering across the room, as he complains, “You had me worried sick.”

“I’m sorry,” he’s saying in between bites and chews, trying to think on how to convey more emotion than that. Some extent of the sudden spark of appreciation he feels. But the more he thinks on that, the more mystified he is, than anything. And when he finally pauses in his food rampage to speak, his voice is murmured and hazy, “How did you know…”

Wally looks at him with those soft green eyes, and for a moment Barry’s lost in them. That look on his face is so pure, so pure, like he has every good intention in the world. Good intentions. Compassion. Concern. Kindness, all rolled into one.

He manages to finish his statement, “to come by?”

Wally blinks back at him. A small sound, almost a squeak, “Huh?”

“I mean I…” his voice is trailing off.

Wally’s frowning at him.

Barry groans. So the boy really _didn’t_ know. Was it just coincidence, then? “I was in pretty bad shape before you arrived.”

Wally stares at him, barely moving.

“You saved my ass, kid.”

But Wally’s not responding still.

Now Barry’s getting concerned. He sets the cracker box down onto the floor, and sits up slowly; because moving too fast’ll make him dizzy. He keeps a cautious eye on his nephew, because he can tell he’s concerned, something’s wrong-

When Wally speaks, his voice has sharp edges. “You need to be careful.”

Barry gives a small sigh, “I try?” He shakes his head, “I do my best, kid.”

Wally’s biting on his lip.

“But you know, I lose track of time. That’s all it is.”

“You’re forgetting to eat,” Wally suggests.

“Well yeah-” he pauses. His eyes widen. His voice rises in pitch, almost like he’s scared. “Wait, how did you know that?”

But there’s no reason to be. “I had a feeling,” Wally shifts uncomfortably, crossing his arms across his chest, as if to relieve some stress.

He’s upset. He’s bothered. Barry can tell.

In his uniform, with his cowl pulled back like that, his face tense as he averts his eyes; Wally’s looking more fragile than usual. He’s missing his usual confidence, his normal glow that lights up the room. The light inside him is dim, like he’s out of place, a powerful hero in a suddenly fragile shell.

Barry gives an audible sigh, on purpose. He wants him to hear it. “I’m sorry,” he says, as he leans forward, clasping his hands together in his lap. “I’ll try to be more careful, alright?”

But Wally’s not looking at him. Not directly. He’s looking at the floor, at the walls, towards the front door down the hall, like he’s thinking he should leave.

“Wally-”

“Do you need me?”

Barry’s heart stops. For a single second, one jump in time. Because that voice is so small. That voice is so small, and almost frightened. “Do I…” he trails off, uncertain.

Wally shrugs to himself, his face slowly turning a flushed pink as he finishes his statement, “If you need me to… helpyou,” he’s still looking away, far, far away, “I could remind you to eat.”

Barry’s voice is gone; he opens his mouth, but there’s no sound.

“Just to.. youknow, keep an eye on you.”

Barry gives up on speech. Rises to his feet.

Wally looks up at him, appearing more small, more tiny than ever, even as he says something so strong, something so determined, “I can handle the responsibility.” He pauses. “I’d like to.”

Before he realizes it, Barry’s giving him a small smile. This kid…

This kid.

“You don’t have to do that for me.”

But the moment Wally parts his lips to reject that idea, with a sudden intake of breath, Barry sees it coming.

He places a hand on the boy’s arm, and notices how warm it is beneath his touch. Warm and radiant, just like the rest of him. Just like his soul; his kind heart. “But thanks, kid. I’d appreciate that.”

When Wally smiles up at him, his eyes finally relax, the stress dissolving in his face…

Barry starts to feel a warm buzz run through him. A feeling that starts in his heart and grows and grows, for every second they exchange looks with each other. Exchanging smiles, mutual kindness and fondness-

The weight inside his heart is lifting. Being around him dulls the pain. _Wally_ dulls the pain.

“You’re a good kid,” he murmurs. “Such a good kid,” as he pulls him into a loose embrace, his arms falling around his shoulders as Wally leans into it, his face pressed against the man’s chest.

Wally’s smiling to himself, allowing a small sigh to escape as he reaches up to return the gesture, his arms draped around the back of Barry’s waist.

Barry doesn’t know what to do.

Because the warmth is not just warmth anymore; it’s suffocating because it’s more beautiful than that, it’s something more profound, a sudden overflow of affection he doesn’t understand.

But he doesn’t fight it. He knows better than to struggle. He’ll let this moment do whatever it wants. Because it feels so damn good to feel _good_ right now that he can’t argue against it.

He pulls him closer, choosing to ignore the deeper sigh that escapes from his nephew. Ignores the sudden want to let his hands trace over his back, to run a hand through his hair gently, to massage his neck, to hold him firmly against his body-

A single shake runs through him, but no one questions it. They’re both too cautious, too afraid. Too afraid to shatter the moment.

 _I’m just lonely_ , Barry’s scolding himself.

Wally’s hands pressed against his back, as he can feel him breathing against his chest.

_I’m just lonely._

When they finally separate, and Wally stands up, Barry remembers how tall he’s getting. How tall, how well-built, how strong. How capable, how confident. He’s no longer the frightened boy he was just minutes ago. He’s no longer the anxious, unsteady and hyper kid he met when he started dating Iris…

_Iris._

Oh God, Iris…

He forces the thought to the back of his mind, but it fights; it struggles to come out.

Wally smiles at him as he gives a small shrug, “I should head back.”

He has her kindness.

“Right,” Barry forces a smile.

He has her compassion.

Wally’s still beaming, as he turns towards the door, with a rushed, “I’llcomebytomorrow.”

Her affection.

He pauses.

Hey, wait a second…

He scolds himself again, quickly responding with a, “Great, thanks,” waving to Wally just before he vanishes outside.

“You forgot to eat again?” she would always say that. “Stop being so irresponsible!”

“Why does it matter so much?” he had the nerve to ask her.

“Because we care about you! I care about you.”

He instinctively places his hands over his face, when the pain begins to come back again. The aching behind his eyes, the sinking feeling, the darkness of despair from deep inside him, a wound he can’t reach. A wound he can’t heal fast enough.

“I care about you, too,” that’s what he should’ve said, “Thank you for loving me.”

But all that came out was, “Well I’m fine, so quit worrying.”

He never let Iris help him. Not nearly enough. He acted too proud. Too stubborn.

He could still remember the look in her eyes, the way she seemed ready to cry, as she sat beside him on the couch, staring at him as he slowly, painfully woke up from the brink of exhaustion.

The same look that was on Wally’s face.

_God._

He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Never.

-

Wally meets up with his team somewhere a few blocks down the road, in a deserted rural area. He appears beside Dick, with a rustling of leaves that nearly makes the boy jump out of his skin. It makes him laugh a little.

“What’re we doing out here?” is his greeting.

Dick is sighing, “Sheesh,” as he adds smartly, “Glad to see you showed up.”

“I said it wouldn’t take long,” Wally grins back.

“Yeah, that was thirty minutes ago,” Dick scoffs. “For you, that’s like.. ten years.”

Wally shakes his head, “Well, it was important,” as he’s examining the scene, from where they’re perched on the rooftop. “Where’s everyone else-”

“Where’d you go, anyway,” Dick asks point-blank.

Wally almost stumbles over his answer, “N-nowhere.”

Dick stares at him.

Wally tries again, with a nervous grin, “Not… very far?”

Dick stares, and stares.

Luckily, that stare is interrupted by a sudden voice, appearing inside their heads: Megan. So she found him. _Kid Flash, great to see you!_

 _Thanks_ , he hesitantly responds, hoping to be put to work. Anything, to escape the scrutinizing look his friend is sending him right now…

He doesn’t know why he’s embarrassed to say where he was. It’s not unusual for him to spend time with Barry. And considering the recent circumstance, it’s not odd to say he was concerned. But for some reason, he feels like he did so much more than to just show up. They did something more than just hang out. Something was different. Something was not normal.

He knows things aren’t the way they usually are. Barry’s an affectionate person, but he’s never hugged him, not like he has been. He was never the kind to get that close to anyone. But Wally understands. He’s grieving. He needs time. And if his grieving process involves something like that, then…

He doesn’t realize what just happened, until Dick’s staring at him, his jaw dropping slightly.

Wally frowns back at him, his voice a nervous hiss, “What?”

Dick murmurs quietly, “Stop thinking about your uncle. It’s creepy.”

Wally’s face turns as red as the bolt on his uniform. “O-oh. I…”

“I understand. We get it, really,” he reaches out hesitantly, motioning his hands in a calm down motion, flattening air, “But can we get to work now?”

Wally tries to clear his throat, and nods, “Y-yeah.”

Megan’s voice in his head again, _Okay, awesome. Let’s get to work, guys! Kid Flash, we need you to…_

But his thoughts are wandering to Barry again.

“Wally!” Dick hits him with his elbow.

“S-sorry!”

Embarrassment doesn’t begin to cover this.

He has to tell himself, _Stop_ , even as Megan transmits instructions to him. _Stop._

Dick is watching him silently. Watching. Frowning when Wally has to tell himself Stop again.

Stop.

Can’t stop thinking about him.

 _Megan,_ he finally ventures. _I get what you’re telling me. But can we quit the mind-reading thing?_

Dick is asking quietly, “Wally…”

_Oh sure, sorry! I’m sorry!_

_It’s okay_ , he tells her, even if everyone’s listening, _I just need some time alone right now. You know.. in my head._

_I understand._

And then.. silence.

Wally sighs. Tries it out with a thought, to test Dick’s reaction. Thinks of being in Barry’s house, thinks of Barry collapsing on the floor, with a sideways glance at his friend.

He doesn’t react; he’s calm as ever.

Thinks of Barry’s heavy, hard-to-move body, as he dragged him across the floor, trying not to panic.

Still nothing. Dick idly notices something on the ground below, and scoots a little closer to the edge to glance down.

Thinks of Barry pulling himself onto the couch, energy gone, face disoriented and flushed. Remembers his fear when he ran to get food, realizing what the problem was, not even knowing what he should get. Remembers the minutes when he worried Barry might die, because he’d never seen him appear so weak before.

He’s biting his lip again.

Remembers the feel of Barry’s arms around him.

He shivers.

-

“Okay, so,” Dick is stretching himself out, wincing from the soreness in his joints after they reconvene at the mountain. “You’ve gotta fill me in.”

“On what?” he feigns some degree of ignorance, as he makes a quick dash around to make sure everyone’s gone; retreated, as he thought, into the next room. Hopefully discussing something important, to distract them for a while. Because he has a feeling Dick’s going to be persistent…

“What happened today?” Dick crosses his arms, his voice laced with sarcasm.

“W-what,” he tries his best to play it cool, even giving a small laugh, “You said you understood, remember?”

“Yeah, I get most of it,” Dick gives a pause.

Wally feels his temperature rising.

“But that doesn’t explain everything.” He moves in closer, uncomfortably close as he lowers his volume, “You get me?”

“Like what,” but he doesn’t really want to know. He’s mainly curious to find out what Dick was able to notice.

“What happened,” Dick is alarmingly to the point.

“When?”

“What _happened_ ,” he stresses. He’s whining at him, with a hit to his arm, “Tell me what happened at Barry’s!”

“Nothing!” he quickly responds; too quickly.

Dick sighs. Taps his foot exaggeratedly.

“Really,” he hates lying to him. But he’s not even sure what he’s covering up right now.

Dick rolls his eyes.

Silence; a tense silence.

“ _Dude_ ,” Dick’s whining again, before he starts to list off his observations, calculating and neutral like he was communicating homework answers, “You were distracted all night, you kept making mistakes, you couldn’t control your thoughts,” some emotion sneaks in, a rare show of hurt, “and you’re lying to me.”

“I’m not lying,” he throws his hands up in the air. “I swear. Not…”

Dick stares.

Wally sighs. “Not a lot.”

“So just a little.”

He hangs his head, “Just a little.”

He doesn’t even know what he’s lying about; not exactly. The elephant in the room is a dizzying ghost; every time he tries to focus on it, he feels overwhelmed. He feels the ground slowly rotating beneath his feet.

Remembers the feel of Barry’s arms around him, of being pleasantly wrapped in his embrace-

“It’s just.. somethingbetweenmeandBarry,” he’s thinking that if he says it honestly, Dick will be less suspicious.

He’s right. His friend’s expression relaxes.

“He’s going through a lot right now.”

Dick’s voice is more reserved than it’s been for a while, as he nods, “I get that. But what about you?”

“What about me?” His face is warming up.

“Are you okay?”

_He thinks I’m sad._

As he should be. He knows he should be. He should be devastated. He should be falling apart, just like Barry. He shouldn’t be lost in… whatever confusing spell of happiness this is. He needs to grieve. Needs to cry some more. Needs to hate life, hate existing for a few more days.

But he can’t fake a sorrow that’s not there right now.

“I’m okay. I just need to help Barry,” he says.

It’s refreshing to say at least one completely honest truth.

“Okay,” Dick nods again, to close the conversation. “Just lemme know if you.. need anything.”

“Of course,” with a small grin. Wally’s not the type of person that needs a lot. He’s grown accustomed to not receiving much in the way of comfort, so even though he appreciates his friend’s offer, he knows he’ll never use it. He has a way of not really needing anyone.

_I need Barry._

His breath catches in his throat.

-

Wally’s often alone whenever he’s at home. He eats a late dinner by himself in silence, because his parents went to bed before he got in. He reheats some leftovers from a few hours ago it looks like, pots wrapped in tin foil that had been written on with a black marker to designate what they were.

He watches his portion sizes. His mom gets irritated when he eats it all, even if he’s often still hungry when he’s done. He sneaks snacks out of the pantry, so he can gradually eat away his hunger throughout the night. He’s sure she notices, but he tries to moderate how many he takes at one time, to keep it less suspicious.

He’s eating alone, slicing into a piece of lukewarm chicken when his cell phone vibrates in his pocket. He pauses; checks the screen.

_Barry._

His heart accelerates.

He answers it, speaking as calmly as he can, “Hey, it’s Wally.”

“Hi, kid,” the voice is tired, and he can hear the man suppressing a yawn.

It makes him squirm, because he finds it endearing.

“Hi,” he laughs back, quietly so he doesn’t wake his parents.

“Just wanted to let you know, I’m meeting Bats for a meeting tomorrow, so don’t worry about me. Okay?”

“Is he gonna feed you?” he asks nervously. But he’s exaggerating it to cover an unpleasant emotion that just stirred up, like a swift kick to the stomach.

“Yeah, totally. You know Mama Alfred.”

It still hurts. “Yeah,” he chuckles, but he has to work at it this time.

“Alright, kid. It’s getting late, so…”

“Yeah,” but he doesn’t want to hang up yet.

“Have a good day at-”

He cuts him off, “CanIcomebyonThursday.”

Barry pauses.

It makes Wally nervous. He didn’t mean to force it like that… He just got scared and…

But when the man speaks, Wally can hear the smile behind his voice. “Of course. See you then, kiddo.”

“See ya,” Wally smirks a little, as he finally brings himself to hang up.

For a moment he remains still, clenching his cell in his hands, tightly, tightly, as he rocks himself back and forth, fidgeting in his seat, too much nervous energy, so much he doesn’t know what to do with.

Remembering the feel of Barry’s embrace.

_What’s happening to me._

-

Some of the buzz wears off.

Thankfully.

He spends the day at school, and then with his team at the mountain. Totally normal. They hang out while Megan tries to bake cookies for the fourth time, swearing this time she’s got it right. Wally is quick to sample one of them, nearly burning his hand in the process. They’re delicious, so he tells her so. Works some flirting magic and actually gets her to blush this time.

He’s getting another eyeroll from Artemis; he must be doing something right.

Floats around Dick, chats him up about their previous mission. Congratulates him on a job well done, when he was able to take down the biggest guy all by himself. Dick says he was only able to do it because Wally was there to distract him. Wally says he’s unsure if he’s grateful or offended by the compliment. Dick laughs it off.

Wally laughs, too. Hits him gently in the shoulder.

Someone mentions Roy, says he would have enjoyed that previous mission. Dick admits that yes, they could have used his arrows to cover them. Artemis says she could handle it. Kaldur points out that she seemed overwhelmed. A small spat, but he’s too polite to argue with her. He apologizes for the offense.

Wally suggests that they should try to get him onto the team again. Some of the others groan and sigh. Dick says it’s probably a lost cause. With some hesitation, Wally agrees. But he doesn’t know if he fully believes it. He’s undecided.

The day wears on. The sun sets. The gang decides to watch a movie, some action flick that Megan was curious about. Kaldur comments that a movie is not very conducive to their studies, but Dick teases that it works as a team building exercise.

The evening passes. A lot of laughter, a lot of jokes. Witty commentaries. Popcorn, drinks, and a nice excuse to unwind.

Wally’s trying not to think about Iris, or Barry. For the most part, he succeeds. One of the minor characters in the film looks like Barry, so he feels happier when he sees him on screen. He makes a few giddy jokes about him.

The movie ends. Credits roll. Wally is falling asleep on the couch and Dick is sitting on his legs because his lanky body was taking up too much room. Artemis remarks that Wally and Dick look like a couple. For some reason that makes Wally uncomfortable, but he doesn’t show it. Laughs it off. Dick reasserts that Wally is his bro. Wally appreciates that in silence, with an amused grin on his face.

The gang decides to call it a day.

He arrives home, to a quiet house as usual. The distant sound of a tv turned on in another room.

Tries not to think about Barry, or the show he’s probably watching right now.

Reheats his usual leftovers from the refrigerator. Eats in silence. Tries not to think about Barry, or the earlier phone call. Tries not to think about checking in on him.

Leave the man in peace. Let him be. He’s okay.

Finishes off his plate, rinses it off and puts it in the dishwasher. Silently walks upstairs. Decides he’s ahead enough on homework to not bother with it tonight. Washes up for bed. Turns on the alarm on his nightstand, and crawls into the sheets. They’re cold, but they’ll get warmer.

Tries not to think about Barry. Mostly succeeds.

Thinks about the movie instead. Replaces his thoughts of Barry with those of the man in the movie. A foolish but wise-cracking detective, working a case with his snarky partner, who was obviously his love interest.

Imagines what it must be like, to be in her shoes. Starts to feel warm, feels his body respond when he remembers the scene of the man kissing her, the way he hastily unbuttoned her shirt and proceeded to fool around with her during a quick montage.

Wants to laugh, remembering the way Kaldur quickly held his hands in front of Dick’s face, as if to avoid exposing him to the sexual content.

But Wally saw it. Wally saw it all.

The man’s hand on her thigh, another to the back of her neck. Kissing her, tracing kisses along her sweat-tinged skin, kissing along her collarbone, and down between her breasts. The way she moaned slightly, moaned as she arched herself towards him, hands wandering, roaming across his shirt, stroking his chest, his back, his body-

Wally’s touching himself before he can feel guilty. He’s too exhausted, too tired to feel guilt. He’ll think about this tomorrow. He can regret it then.

The movie didn’t show them having sex. But he completes the scene in his mind.

His cock hardens beneath his fingers, drops of pre-cum smeared into his hand. He arches himself up from the bed, the sheets falling across his legs. He pants into the silent room, pants as he thinks of the man kissing her, thinks of Barry, thinks of the man kissing her on the mouth, as she opened her lips to let his tongue inside, thinks of what he must taste like, thinks of what a kiss from Barry must taste like, thinks of the heat of Barry’s mouth, his tongue, wants to know how it feels, imagines it as he licks the corners of his lips, kisses the air, swirls his tongue around an imaginary point of contact.

Buckling against his hand, thrusting into his fingers as he starts to shake the bed in a low vibration, a rhythm too rapid and subtle for anyone to notice.

Uses his other hand to reach down, to reach down between his legs to cup and fondle his balls as he’s thinking of the man’s hand on her leg, wonders if his hands are smooth or calloused, thinks of Barry’s hand on his arm, Barry’s arms around him, Barry’s arms around him, Barry’s arms around him, the laughter in his voice on the phone. The man’s tongue inside that woman’s mouth, Barry’s tongue inside his mouth, Barry’s lips against his own, Barry’s tongue inside his mouth, Barry’s lips against his-

Barry’s hands on his thighs, Barry’s hands on his legs, as he presses them apart, Barry’s hands on his legs as he presses them apart, the creative guess at what he must look like naked, from the detailed musculature he’d often notice in the Flash uniform. He was jealous as a kid but now he just wants it, wants to see it, wants to feel it, trace his hands along his skin, admire his cock between his legs, feel it pressed against his-

Barry’s cock as it pushes inside him, stretching him open for the first time. Barry’s panting voice, heavy voice as he breathes, sighs, crawls on top of him as he thrusts inside, thrusts inside, thrusts inside, tracing kisses across his face, kisses to his lips, kisses to his neck, kisses to his chest, and he thrusts inside, thrusts inside, thrusts inside, thrusts inside-

Wally comes with a small sob, that he quickly muffles with a hand over his mouth. He shakes and rattles and feels his legs kick against the mattress as he feels ejaculate coating his fingers, knows it decorated the sheets, knows it’s staining the bed-

_Oh God._

He’s still shaking, even as he slows down his breathing, even as he calms himself down, even as he battles against the free and high feeling of orgasm and the inevitable surge of guilt and regret.

_Oh my God._

But he’s too tired to feel guilty.

He lifts the hand away from his mouth; stares at it for a moment. Stares, closes his eyes and kisses it. Kisses it slowly. Kisses it like a lover, as he massages his cock again, gentler this time, gentler like he’s showing it affection.

He’s falling asleep as he rocks against his hand, rocks slowly and gently, kissing his hand, kissing it as his eyes close, as his body slows down, as he relaxes.

There’s an ache inside his heart. A painful ache, laced with an infectious sort of joy. He wants to hate himself but he can’t. Wants to feel guilty but he can’t. Not yet. Too tired. Need sleep.

For now, there’s only the silence.

And the feeling of Barry’s lips against his.

-

It kicks in the next morning, when he wakes up, crawls out of bed and notices the stain of cum. He sighs to himself, as he strips the sheets off the mattress. Gathers them into his arms and runs downstairs quietly, because his dad’s already off to work and his mom’s probably sleeping in. Throws them into the machine. Sets the time, hits Start.

Tries to start his day, having a proper breakfast of cereal, even as the self-hatred is setting in.

He loses his appetite halfway through. He thinks he wants to die, but he realizes he’s being overdramatic before he can take that seriously.

Sighs to himself. Sighs again, because that first one didn’t help. This one doesn’t either.

Tries to finish the bowl of cereal. Knows he’ll be hungry later, so he grabs a few snack bars from the pantry. Hears the washing machine running. Hopes his mother will be too annoyed by that to ask questions. Not like he’d ever tell her about this, anyway.

He won’t tell anyone.

The sooner he forgets about it, the better.

He travels back upstairs. Time to get ready to leave. Then to school. Then to the mountain. Then to…

Oh God-

Then to Barry’s house.

-

Sometimes, when Barry wakes up, he still expects Iris to be there. He forgets how cold her side of the bed is. Forgets how quiet the room is, without the sound of her breathing. Forgets how quiet the house is, without the sound of her rummaging around the kitchen to get her coffee.

When he wakes up he stares across the room in silence, allowing his mind to dwell in that space where she is still alive, imagining the sounds, the feeling of knowing she’s there, about to return into the room at any moment.

He stares into the empty doorway.

Feels his soul collapsing, because no one’s there.

Falls back against the sheets.

Wants her to be there. Needs her to be there.

Realizes yet again that she never will be.

His eyes start to burn as he stares at the ceiling, watching the fan above spin.

Sighs to himself, and closes his eyes.

Doesn’t feel like waking up yet. It’s not worth it.

Ignores the rumbling noise in his stomach.

It’ll pass.

-

Wally goes to Mount Justice. Feels sick the entire time, on the verge of throwing up. It’s not nausea. It’s just tension. Stress. The fluttering of butterflies in his stomach. Butterflies that shouldn’t be there.

He’s hearing the briefing from Batman, standing next to his friends and trying not to cringe too obviously. He can barely focus on what the man is saying. He can barely think. He can barely breathe.

Because oh God what is he going to say to Barry how is that not going to be awkward how is he going to look at him What happens if he mentions Iris and What if he has to admit he’s not mourning her right now like he should be and Why isn’t he mourning her anyway He needs to cry He needs to be sad because he is not over it He knows he’s not over it so why-

Dick elbows him in the side.

“Ow,” he flinches and sends him a startled look.

“Focus, Kid Flash,” Batman’s cold voice.

He sends him back a nervous look, “Yes sir.”

Dick’s still staring at him. He gives a small murmur, “We need to talk.”

“Later,” Wally hisses.

“Boys,” Bruce scolds them.

“Yes,” “Sorry,” they both respond at once.

But Wally doesn’t want to talk. He’s too ashamed.

Wally’s hoping that the mission can take his mind off things.

But Bruce’s next words derail his thinking.

“Kid Flash, you’re welcome to sit this one out.”

“What,” his eyes widen.

“Come back tomorrow.”

“But I…”

“I believe that would be best,” Kaldur interjects, with an apologetic look in Bruce’s direction, “If I may add my opinion.”

Bruce nods in affirmation.

“You are increasingly distracted,” Kaldur adds his insight. “In this state, I do not trust you to be safe or efficient during the mission.”

Bruce responds firmly, “Aqualad. Well done.”

Wally wants to respond, but he can’t. His throat tenses up. His mouth is dry.

He figures he can go home. He can go home, get a bite to eat. And hurry over to Barry’s-

And there goes the turning in his stomach again.

-

When Wally arrives home, his mother is sitting at the kitchen table, eating what appears to be a salad. She glances up when he strolls in, and says, “You’re back early.”

“Yeah,” he quickly murmurs, before rushing to open the fridge.

He needs to hurry quickly, he needs to get to Barry’s quickly, or he might lose his nerve.

“I put your sheets back on for you.”

He pauses. Hesitantly, “Thanks,” but he can’t bring himself to look at her.

She’s staring at him.

He can tell. He feels her eyes burning right through him. He’s reaching for the jar of cherries stashed on the top shelf, but he’s not sure if he wants it anymore.

“That’s disgusting, you know.”

“Mom,” he sighs.

“I know boys your age do things like that, but,” she sighs audibly; he can hear her disgust, “I don’t want to see it. Please.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, closing the fridge door. Definitely doesn’t want it anymore.

“If you need to… take care of your needs, you know-”

“Igetit,” he hurries her along.

“I just don’t want to know about it, when you do.”

“Iknow.”

“That’s all.”

“OkayIgetit.”

“Okay then,” and she goes back to eating.

He lets out a slow, pained sigh as he drifts out of the room.

“Are you leaving already?” he hears her voice call after him.

“Yeah,” he calls back.

“Hanging out with your friends again?”

Oh. That works.

“Yeah,” he lies. “I’ll be back soon,” which may be true.

“Okay, have fun,” but he doesn’t catch all of it, because he’s already running out the door.

No time to delay. No time to wait.

Barry-

-

Barry answers the door immediately. He looks tired again, but not as exhausted as earlier. He’s completely conscious. He’s aware, and his eyes are more alert than they’ve been in days.

He’s smiling, “Hey, kid.”

Wally smiles back, trying to ignore the sudden tension in his chest, “Hey, Uncle Barry.”

“Come on in,” the man nods towards the house, motioning for him to follow.

Wally’s moving, but he can’t feel it. He doesn’t feel his legs. He barely feels the ground beneath him. The door closes. The house is silent, and full of sunlight.

Wally asks the first question that comes to mind, so he can act like he has purpose. “Did you ea-”

“Sure did,” Barry cuts him off quickly, as he meanders into the living room. “Little while ago.”

“Oh,” Wally breathes the answer; because there’s a new stress inside him, a stress that runs up his back and locks him in place.

If Barry already ate, and if Barry is doing fine, then…

Barry’s taking a seat on the couch, as he settles down in front of the tv.

_What am I doing here?_

“I-I guess I’ll go, then,” he turns back.

“Huh?” Barry asks, his eyebrows raised.

“Y-you know, since you don’t, you don’t reallyneedmyhelp or anything so,” he’s stumbling over words and it’s humiliating but he’s sure he’s done worse before anyway.

“What,” Barry’s more perplexed than he was before.

“Well you said I could come over to remind you to eat but you already did so why am I here right,” he ends it with an attempt at a laugh, but it comes out as a shiver of embarrassment.

Barry’s rising to his feet.

“So I’m sorry for botheringyouI’llgonowokaysoI’llseeyou-”

“Wally.”

“Uncle Barry?” he bites on his lip.

“Slow down.”

Wally swallows empty air in his throat.

He’s losing it. He’s losing his composure for real. He can feel the heat in his face. The flush beneath his eyes. His unsteady hands. Shaking.

“I just.. I don’t want to…”

But he can’t speak anymore. Nothing coherent’s coming out.

“Let’s get you something to eat.”

“Huh?” now it’s Wally’s turn to act confused.

“Food. Don’t you want some?” Barry smirks at him. “You’re acting funny. I’ve got something that’ll cure that.”

Wally nods, but even that seems more difficult.

Everything is more difficult right now.

But then it hits him that Barry is…

Inviting him to stay.

Even if he has no purpose there. Even if he’s not needed. Even if he’s not necessary. He can stay. Just like normal.

And for some reason that makes him a lot happier than it should.

-

He’s devouring a stack of French toast, as Barry sits at the other end of the table, looking on quietly. He’s thinking something. Wally knows he’s thinking something. But he’s scared to know what it is.

Because it’s probably not what he _wants_ him to be thinking about.

Stop it.

He looks at Barry, as the man sends him back a slight smile.

Stop.

“So, you’ve been doing okay?” Wally manages, between a few rushed bites.

“Yep,” Barry nods. He seems relieved that a conversation’s starting. “It’s been quiet around here, but I’m alright.”

“Quiet, huh?”

“Yeah.” A smirk crawls onto his face, “Apart from a recent addition.”

Wally stares back blankly.

“Come on,” Barry whines, “You’d normally get the joke.”

“O-oh,” Wally laughs nervously. He distracts himself with more eating. But the food’s almost gone. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” but his voice is more calm than usual.

He can hear Barry’s faint intake of breath, like he’s thinking something. Something heavier.

It makes him nervous.

“Kid,” Barry suggests, with an unusual stress.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, before promptly sliding the fork back into his mouth.

“Are you doing okay?”

Wally pauses.

_No._

“Yeah,” he nods, “I’m fine.”

“I mean, I know… Iris meant a lot to you.”

“Yeah…” he trails off.

“And you know I’m here for you, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” he nods. “I just…”

The last bite. The food’s gone. He stares at the empty plate, and realizes he doesn’t want to complete that thought.

“Just what?” Barry’s asking, leaning forward slightly as he props his arms against the table.

“I…” he takes a deep breath, and shakes his head.

_Come on. You can trust Barry._

He knows that. But that doesn’t make it less difficult.

“I don’t…” he allows his eyes to wander, because that makes it easier. If he doesn’t focus on Barry, doesn’t watch the face of the man that loved her, “I don’t think I’m… sad enough.”

But the response he receives is silence. A thoughtful silence, followed by a low, “Hmm.”

“I mean I am sad,” he hastily amends it, “I just don’t feel… really down or…”

“I understand.”

He looks at him again, and is surprised by Barry’s eerily, remarkably calm expression. “You do?”

The man nods. He even gives a small smile, “Everyone reacts… to loss differently, Wally.”

“I.. see.” He finally sets the fork down, because he’s been gripping it tightly between his fingers, a bit too tight. So instead he’s idly drumming his hands against the table’s surface. Taps his foot against one of the legs to relieve some nervous energy.

Barry chuckles a little, “Don’t feel bad about it.”

How did he know that-

“I wasn’t,” but his blush gives him away.

“It’s okay,” he smiles at him, “It’s completely okay. We both know… that you loved her very much.”

“Yeah,” one honest thing he can admit, without question.

“So if you feel bad about it, whenever you do, you know…” he pauses, and then nods, “I’m here, okay buddy?”

He reaches across the table, and places a hand over Wally’s closest one. Grips it tight.

Wally feels his chest tighten.

“I’m here for you.”

Barry nods one more time, and lets go.

Wally wants to cry all of a sudden.

“I… thanks,” he blinks a few times to hold it back.

Barry’s noticing.

Wally doesn’t speak again, but he averts his eyes, staring out into the next room.

And suddenly, there it is.

A wave of emotion.

Why-

His face is tensing up.

Why…

He’s reaching a hand towards his face, pressing at the corner of his eyes when a distorted cry leaves his mouth. He doesn’t bother to question it anymore. But suddenly he feels awful, completely awful-

He’s shivering and shaking, murmuring incoherent sounds when he hears Barry’s chair slide back, hears him shuffling over to move beside him. Feels those arms slide around his shoulders, feels their weight and loves it and that makes him feel even worse. He’s crying as Barry pulls him closer, arms winding tight around his back as Wally’s face is pressed against his chest, just like it was last time. Just like it was before…

He’s starting to figure out why he’s so upset. But none of that helps, either.

He’s a terrible person, for not mourning Iris properly. Because Barry is right and dammit he did love her and she loved him and he’s an awful nephew for not crying for her, for crying for himself instead, and his stupid emotions and his stupid crush and-

_Crush._

No, not for Barry-

Please, not for Barry.

Barry’s murmuring a “Shh, it’s okay,” his voice faint and soft.

But he can’t stop crying. Can’t stop, now.

And he says something surprising, something that seems to come from so deep inside himself, he didn’t even see it. “I loved her.”

Barry’s voice is firm and comforting, like a familiar old room, “I know, kid.”

“It’s not fair,” because none of this is.

“It never is.”

And isn’t that the truth.

-  
They’re sitting together on the couch, legs propped on top of the coffee table, as they share a bowl of popcorn. There’s a show on, and it’s not very good, but at least it makes Barry laugh.

When Wally stretches himself out, he loses track of space and his leg accidentally slides and brushes against one of Barry’s. He feels the rush spike through him, that spark of warmth but he downplays it, acts like it didn’t happen when he settles back into place and gets comfortable again.

Barry laughs again, quietly.

For a moment in the popcorn bowl, their hands brush together.

Wally’s losing his appetite again. But he’s not sad anymore. He’s feeling oddly calm, and so comfortable he feels unsteady. He feels unable to trust himself, and what he might do. Almost feels comfortable enough to crawl into Barry’s lap, to move the bowl and close the space between them, to lean himself against him like a cat, to relax and settle against his warm body.

A funny commercial comes on, a man chasing his cat around the house. Wally lets himself laugh. It feels good.

He glances at Barry, instinctively feeling eyes on him; the man’s smiling back. They both look away around the same time, but it’s calm now, a natural moment starting and reaching a peaceful end.

Barry moves the popcorn bowl, setting it down onto the floor.

Wally feels his chest tightening uncomfortably.

Barry shifts position. Intentionally or not—Oh God he can’t tell, no come on that’d be ridiculous—he moves a little closer.

“You know,” Barry says, his voice a quiet murmur as he settles into the cushions, leaning back, “This was Iris’ favorite show.”

“Really?” Wally asks, startled by the sudden comment.

“Yeah,” he nods faintly, before he continues, “We’d watch it every Saturday, when we were dating. No, wait..” He trails off, “Friday. Every Friday night.”

Wally happens to notice that Barry’s eyes soften when he talks about her.

And he doesn’t know why he’s saying it, but…

“She was really special to you, huh.”

Barry looks at him with a question, a frown above his eyes, “Wha… Uh, Yeah.” He looks back at the screen, as if gathering his thoughts, “I know she was special to you, too.”

“Yeah,” Wally acknowledges, “But… You can tell.”

“Can tell what?” barely a murmur, his voice is so faint.

Wally stares into the television as well, as both of them are afraid to look at the other first. He’s trying to suppress his selfish jealously, but he’s no expert at it, “You really loved her.”

But Barry doesn’t respond. Not immediately.

“You loved her too, Wally.”

Not the answer he was looking for.

So selfish.

He closes his eyes, and lets the conversation die. Chews on his lip in silence.

He doesn’t notice Barry staring at him.

Doesn’t know that Barry’s staring, doesn’t know what Barry’s thinking.

_But I love you too, Wally._

-

This time, they’re both laughing.

Barry loves the sound of Wally’s laugh. Loves the way it makes his whole face light up.

“Hey, Uncle Barry,” Wally is grinning at him, “Can I come over tomorrow.”

“Any time, kid.”

_Please._

Wally is the only reason he can laugh nowadays.

“Really?” that hint of a blush. The adorable hint of color that darkens his freckles and makes his eyes seem brighter.

“Yeah, sure. Stop by whenever you want.”

Because when Wally’s not around, he can’t smile at all.

-

Two weeks have passed. Barry’s staring at the calendar, where he’d taped a post-it note to the edge.

April 17th. The note read: _Funeral. 10:30._

He shouldn’t be reading this. He shouldn’t have to read this.

_Our Lady of the Lord, 1200 W. Forest Ave._

He shouldn’t have ever had to read this.

_Arrive at 10:00. Ceremony at 10:30._

He’d promised her a lifetime.

How the hell did this happen…

The Flash. The world’s fastest man.

All that power.

Useless.

-

Wally feels alive.

Ambient. Radiant. Hyper. In constant motion.

No mission today, just training. But he doesn’t need one.

He’s light on his feet. More focused than he’s been in days. He laughs when Kaldur manages to knock him over.

“That was good,” he’s grinning up at him, as he crawls back up. Playfully curls his hands into fists, “Come on,” as he bounces around.

He hears Dick’s voice from the far corner of the room, “What’s got into him?”

But he’s in too good of a mood to care.

He doesn’t know what happened. Doesn’t need to know what happened.

Because he feels damn good right now and for the first time in days he’s feeling normal.

“Come on,” he whines at Kaldur, “Hit me.”

And hit him, he does. Wally goes flying.

Hits the ground with another laugh.

He doesn’t fully understand it, but it feels so good.

Everything feels good right now.

-

It doesn’t last. It never does. Not lately.

Wally’s sitting on the couch, watching a movie with his parents. They ordinarily wouldn’t be awake this late, but it’s a weekend, and this is their idea of unwinding. It’s not an unpleasant experience. But he’s not enjoying it, either.

The movie is terrible. It’s a comedy none of them laugh at.

And there’s no Barry beside him, warm and kind Barry, to help him see the humor in it, to share popcorn and soothe his nerves.

He feels his pulse race, just slightly, when he thinks of him.

So he does it again.

Thinks of his gentle laughter. His voice on the phone-

A vibrating in his pocket.

Yes, like the other night-

Wait.

A vibrating in his pocket?

He rises to his feet, hurrying out of the room as he pulls out his cell and checks the screen.

_Barry._

He smiles to himself, just for a moment before he quickly masks it, in case his parents turn around. Answers hesitantly, “Hi, it’s me.”

“Wally,” the voice on the other end.

“Yes?” he doesn’t sound good. He sounds awful.

“Can you come over,” he sounds terrible.

“Yeah, of course. Be right there.”

Barry hangs up before Wally can question him.

There’s a knot in his stomach.

He’s addressing his parents, as he waltzes back towards them, “Um…”

“What?” his father’s asking, a frown already on his face.

Wally’s not feeling too brave right now, but if it’s for Barry… “I’m.. gonna head out for a bit.”

“Head out?” his mother’s frowning as well, as she sits forward, “You just got in.”

“I know,” his voice is small and almost afraid, but he can’t let it weaken too far, “But I…’m gonna go.”

“Where,” his father’s heavy voice. Rough and cold.

“A… A friend’s place.”

“Who is it?” His mother’s voice is raising in pitch. “This late-”

“It is late,” his father insists.

“Yeah, but it’skindofimportant,” he shrugs, not knowing what else he can say.

“Wally,” his mother sighs, “Tell Dick or whoever that it’s a bit late, and you’ll call him tomorrow.”

“I…” No. No way.

“Yeah, it’s.. Christ, 11:30?” his father glances at the clock.

Oh wow. It is. It must be bad. Bad news.

“I have to go,” he insists.

“Why?” his mother asks.

He feels himself shaking, before he can respond.

She stares at him, the frown on her face deepening. Even his father is staring. Scrutinizing. Studying him too closely.

He can’t stop shaking. His stomach is turning on itself again. His face is warm. So warm.

Shit shit shit.

Can’t stop shaking.

“Is it a girl?” his mother suddenly interrupts his thoughts.

“What?”

“A girl,” she teases.

“Oh,” his father almost laughs.

“Wh-” he wants to deny it. Needs to deny it. But... But he…

“Who is she?” his mother starts to smile at him.

“You’ve still gotta call her tomorrow,” his father chimes in.

“Absolutely,” his mother reaffirms.

Wally can feel his face burning.

“I… I have to go.”

“Wally,” his father is about to scold him.

“I’m sorry but it’sreallyimportant.”

“Wait a second,” he’s not sure who says it, because he’s leaving by the time he catches the sound.

But there’s no time. No time for this.

He’ll answer to their anger, their frustrations, their pressure later. He’ll sort it out some other time. He’ll think about it later tonight. Or tomorrow. He’ll gather his thoughts then.

There’s no time now.

-

Lights are on inside the house. But Barry’s not answering the door.

“Come on,” Wally’s whispering to himself, trying to bury his concern as he rings the doorbell, hoping the frayed connection works this time. “Come on.”

A sound echoes inside the house. No response.

“Come on,” he starts to shift his feet around, “Please.”

Tries knocking again.

He chews on his bottom lip.

No response.

He pulls out his phone. Dials the last person that called him, Barry. Feels like a fool but he believes it’s necessary.

Hears the phone ringing in the dial-tone, the electronic melody playing against his ear.

“Please,” he whines to himself. Doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to do. Looks around. No open windows. The door’s surely locked.

For the hell of it, he tugs at the doorknob. Turns. Keeps turning.

The door swings open.

Barry wouldn’t leave the door unlocked. He wouldn’t fail to answer his phone. Barry. Barry, Oh God, Barry, what-

He dashes inside before he can make himself sick with worry. Needs to know, needs to find him, needs to see what-

Barry’s laying on the couch, completely still. Breathing slow and shallow. Wally takes a moment to realize that yes, he’s alive, so he runs back to close the front door before he forgets. Returns to Barry’s side. Hovers above him, watches him carefully, checking the rate of his breathing to realize that he’s asleep.

But to sleep through the doorbell, and the phone…

He’s either exhausted, or sick. Neither option makes Wally very happy. And why did he call... What does he need…

He sighs, and finds an empty spot beside him on the couch. He sits down and looks at him. Watches the man in silence. Watches his chest rise and fall. Sighs again, and pulls his eyes away.

Wants to leave, but can’t.

Because he keeps hearing his voice on the phone.

He sounded so awful.

He wants to touch him. To lean down, and wind his arms around him. To lean against his chest. To kiss his face and tell him it’s going to be okay, whatever it is.

It probably won’t.

But he could try to lie, for his sake.

Even if he’d probably fail.

He would still try.

-

Awareness is returning to him. His senses are waking up. He’s starting to feel things. Hear things. The rhythmic sound of someone breathing. A weight against his chest, the familiar warmth of someone’s body. A stillness; breathing shallow and slow, comatose.

Instinctively, he shifts; instinctively slides an arm around that body. His fingers trail over an arm, slender and soft. A slight reactionary tremble, he feels the body give a twitch almost, as he traces delicate circles across the skin. He takes the hint, and flattens his hand against the small of the waist, smooth and slender, slender and almost delicate. A hand pressing lightly against the back, he can feel where the spine sticks out slightly, rubs along its path as the body squirms beneath his touch.

A faint voice, only half-awake, “Barry…”

“Iris.”

A jolt of fear. A sudden panic. A twist in his gut.

The body moves. Crawls up in a clumsy rush. Legs kick against his. Hands positioned at either side of his body. A face hovers above him, looks down with wide and beautiful eyes. Round and brilliant green, wide and…

Frightened.

“Wal-” He’s saying it too late. The damage is done. Wally’s stumbling off of him, traveling across the room. Barry sits up in time to see him heading for the door.

“Wally,” he calls after him.

He’s gone.

Shit.

“Wally,” he tries again.

No response.

Gets it together. A snap decision. Flies out the door.

Goddammit.

He hurt him. He might’ve really hurt him this time.

_Wally._

_If I’d have known it was you…_

He would have held him closer.

He wouldn’t have let go.

-

Minutes pass. He’s traveled several miles. He has to give up. He has to stop.

Wally is either at the mountain by now, or at his parent’s house. Neither of those are places where he wants to be. Neither of those are places where he should be.

He goes home. Nothing better to do, now.

He strolls inside his living room, trying to figure out what he could possibly say on the phone, if he calls, and Wally actually responds.

And there’s Wally.

Sitting on the couch, staring at him somberly as he approaches. Face flushed like he’s been crying. And the instant Barry realizes that, he feels like shit.

A downright piece of shit.

“Wally…” he starts, but he doesn’t know where to begin.

“I’m sorry,” the boy mumbles, almost to himself as he rises to his feet, “I was startled.”

No. Wally…

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay.”

He could say so much more than that, but the words aren’t coming. They’re just piling up in his brain. Because each statement he wants to say would only reveal secrets he shouldn’t share. Secrets that bring him little else but shame.

Barry sighs.

There’s more that Wally should be saying, too.

He wants to know where he just ran off to. Why he was laying on his chest. How long he’d been there. How he felt. How he feels-

But Wally says something he doesn’t expect.

“Why did you call me?”

Barry feels his throat tightening. He’s not ready yet. He’s not ready to go there.

But it’s either there, or in the dangerous direction of getting an answer to why Wally was laying against him.

“I’m sorry,” Barry hangs his head, “I overreacted.”

“To what,” his voice a faint whisper.

“I was just feeling down, that’s all,” he tries a faint smile.

When he makes eye contact with Wally, he’s momentarily stunned. Those wide eyes again, but they’re heavy and dark, like it hurts to keep them open. His mouth is tense. His lips almost form a straight line. He wants them to soften up. Needs them to relax. Wants to press his mouth against them and kiss him until he calms down-

Barry breaks the look; occupies himself by studying the pattern of the tiles on the floor. “It’s been a rough day.”

When Wally speaks again, he’s faint and distant, like a ghost, “Must’ve been bad.”

He keeps his voice level, to avoid concerning him, “Yeah. A bit.”

When Barry looks at Wally again, he’s slowly closing his eyes. Opens them again to stare someplace far away, the same distant look he has whenever he’s feeling lost for words, or unable to speak his mind.

_You could tell me anything._

But he knows Wally wouldn’t believe that.

“Hey,” Barry suggests, “Why don’t we watch a movie or something.”

Wally’s looking at him again.

“I mean, tv’s shit, but… I have a player in my room-”

“Dvd, or Blu-ray,” Wally’s grinning slightly.

It feels remarkably good to see the sadness leaving his face.

“Blue what,” Barry jokes.

Wally laughs softly.

“You kids and your.. technology…”

Wally’s grinning, “It’s the future, Uncle Barry.”

“Future, huh. Just another gadget.” He doesn’t fully mean that. But it keeps the amused expression on Wally’s face.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter,” Wally shrugs to himself, a playful grin lingering on the edge of his lips.

When Barry watches Wally’s face gradually relax, sees the tension fade away, he starts to feel a familiar warmth in his heart. A warmth he’d like to treasure, a warmth he’d like to keep for himself.

But that’s just selfish.

He has to look away.

Wally notices his sudden discomfort, but he doesn’t say anything.

-

Barry doesn’t know how this happened.

How it all began, even.

Everything was normal. They were calm. Happy. Minutes drifting by over low volume in a dark room, light from the screen illuminating their laughing faces.

It was just tv. Just a cable network airing some melodramatic special about a woman battling Cancer. It wasn’t the same thing. But it was. And wasn’t.

He doesn’t know why he lingered there, when he had control of the remote. Doesn’t know why he kept it on that channel, to watch the scene of her laying in the hospital bed, talking to her children. Children he didn’t have. Children him and Iris would never-

He’s not crying, not anymore. But for the several minutes he was, it was Hell. Hell. It’s Hell on Earth to cry in front of your nephew. That’s what he’s learned today.

Especially when your nephew is someone as sympathetic as Wally.

He’d started to tear up too, and it just made him feel worse. Wally should never cry. Wally is too beautiful to cry. Inside and out. Surface-level and deep. Wally means too much, he means too much to him, to cry.

Especially when it was his fault. When he was the idiot that left the channel there. When he was the idiot that called him, that told him to come over, when he knew he’d been feeling like shit for several hours. He was the one that called him, when he hit that low. He invited him in.

Invited him, because he knew he’d come. Wally always came. Wally was too good of a person to not come.

His overwhelming appreciation for Wally makes him feel even worse. He takes solace in the feel of arms that are not strong enough to hold him up on their own. Takes comfort in the soothing breath of air across his forehead when the boy tells him, “It’s okay,” the soothing sensation of a hand running through his hair, brushing it back. “It’s okay,” his lips brush against his face, as he turns and settles back in for a shared embrace.

He wants to kiss him. Needs to kiss him so badly.

It’s juvenile, to be thinking that right now, in between the melancholy over his wife. But it’s not about the kiss. It’s not about lust. He doesn’t even have to fight it; because he doesn’t want fondling or grinding or sex right now. He wants a kiss, and more of this warmth, more of this boy’s blind affection, his remarkably nurturing spirit. He wants to kiss him and sink into it, kiss him and tell him he loves him, tell him he loves him before sinking deeper into his arms.

He’s falling in love.

He’s been falling. He’s been falling since before the incident. Been falling since Wally started spending time alone with him. Since he was able to see more sides to his personality. Since he learned how to make him laugh, when he really wants to. Since he started noticing things like, how his laughter lights up his eyes and how his entire body shakes with boisterous sound when he gets carried away. His laugh shifts and evolves between a cackle and a boisterous rumble, and Barry thinks it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

Since Wally was sitting at his kitchen table, smiling at him when he said, “You know, Uncle Barry… You’re alright,” with a sly grin on his face.

Barry had made a stupid joke, something like, “So that’s what the kids say nowadays,” and Wally just laughed softly.

Wally’s trailing his fingers through his hair, brushing it back as he continues to murmur sweet words, kind words so faint he almost doesn’t hear them. His arms around his shoulders, and he’s surrounded by the warmth of his body, one of his legs pressed against his thigh, intoxicated by a beautiful feeling that makes him breathless.

He’s not sure if he imagined it, but there’s a faint contact, like the subtle pressing of lips against his skin. And Wally gives a small sigh. Pulls him closer. Holds him like a lover.

Like someone in love, and it’s a stupid little whimsy that gives Barry hope.

It eases away his sadness.

-

When Wally leaves for the night, he instinctively wants to lean in, as if he’s asking for a kiss; but instead he forces himself to remain still, and smile. Just smile.

Barry’s crossing his arms over his chest. He smiles back.

Wally says hesitantly, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Barry grins, “Sure, kid.”

_Thanks._

“I’ll help you… you know,” he scratches the base of his neck, “I’ll try to… keepyouhappy. Happier.”

“I appreciate that,” Barry nods at him.

_Because I need you to get me through this._

When he hit that low point…

When he hit that low point, roughly two hours ago. Found himself curled on the floor, dry heaving. Thoughts too disorganized to make sense, so dark he doesn’t want to remember them, thoughts on death and loneliness and Iris’ face and her embrace and her kind voice and the accident that killed her and the image of her in the hospital bed, unconscious but just barely alive, bandages on her face, bandages wrapped around her arms, dried spots of blood on them-

He looks at Wally one more time, before he leaves. The boy is already turning away.

“Hey, Wally,” he calls out.

Wally pauses; looks back.

That face. He never gets tired of that face. The way he looks at him. The way he instantly responds.

“Thank you.”

He can’t explain it; doesn’t want to explain it. But hopes that the statement means enough, carries enough weight on its own.

Wally is slightly perplexed, but he smiles anyway, a small hint of a blush spreading beneath his eyes. “Anytime, Barry.”

-

Wally wakes up with a smile on his face. Presses his face against his pillow, tries to sink further into the sheets. He’s feeling the buzz from last night lingering, the infectious happiness of being so close to the man he loves-

God, his heart aches just thinking about it.

He feels the tension in his chest, but somehow it’s... a good thing, now. The pain is becoming something pleasurable. And when he trails his hand across the sheets and imagines Barry there beside him, his smile grows even more.

And today is a weekend, which means it’s a day off, which means he can spend several more hours at Barry’s place-

He doesn’t know what will happen. He doesn’t even know what’s happening anymore. But he can’t keep his hands off him. Can’t keep from reaching out. Can’t keep from touching, soothing away his sadness.

It’s true, that on some nights he wants sex. When he comes home to an empty house, and he’s lonely, it’s true that he just wants to be fucked until he screams.

But it’s also true that he loves the feeling of being beside him, of listening to his voice, of speaking with him about anything, of sharing lame jokes and watching tv and bonding over an appetite for food that no one else could understand.

So he’s smiling to himself, humming the first tune that comes to mind, something he heard in a commercial yesterday as he puts some clothes on and waltzes out of his room. He approaches the kitchen, greeting his mother with a, “Morning,” as she nods back and returns the comment.

There’s something off about her, but he can’t tell entirely what it is. He moves to the fridge, opens it as he’s reaching the chorus of his song.

“You’re in a good mood,” she says.

He pauses, “Yeah, I guess so.” The less details, the better.

“Things are going well with your girlfriend?”

A chill runs up his spine. But he doesn’t run this time. He pulls the box of orange juice out of the fridge and closes the door. Travels over to the cupboard, flipping it open to browse for a glass, “Um…” as he tries to find words that can’t come fast enough.

“Yes,” she sighs.

“Oh, um,” his fingers hovering over a glass, before he pulls it down, and taps the cupboard closed with a brush of his hand, “I’mnotseeinganyone.”

“But you’re acting so…” she pauses. “Hmm.”

“What,” he pours himself a drink.

“So it’s just a crush?” she smirks at him.

“Mom,” he sighs.

“Come on, Wally. You’re a hormonal teenage boy.”

He starts trying to tune her out, but of course it’s impossible.

“And I know that you’re gonna like a few people.”

He’s sighing again, as he turns to put the juice back in the fridge.

“But you can’t get too reckless.”

“Reckless?” he pauses, pushing the door shut.

“Yes, like… You can’t just take off in the middle of the night. What time did you come home last night?”

He clears his throat, “Late.”

“How late?”

“Later than usual,” he shrugs, “But it’s a weekend. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s not?”

Silence.

Wally’s the first to break it, “Huh?”

“I think it’s a very big deal.”

“Mom,” he’s groaning more to himself than anything.

“To be honest, I’d be less worried if you said she was your girlfriend. At least then I’d know what to expect.”

He takes the first sip in silence.

“What exactly are you doing, anyway? You’re almost never home, you’re sneaking around at late hours…”

“I have friends, Mom.”

“You obviously like someone, so come out with it.”

“Just so you can tell me not to do it,” he grumbles to himself.

Said too much. Foot, meet mouth.

“So it is a girl. Well. Mister Wallace West.”

He sighs.

“Are you having sex?”

“G-god, Mom.”

“Are you?”

“Mom.”

He dreads what he’s about to say next, but he has to say it. Has to. Feels an obligation to do it.

His voice a regretful murmur, “It’s none of your business.”

But he doesn’t get the response he expected. He gets… silence. And when he looks at her, she’s glaring right back at him.

“W-well,” she throws her hands up in the air, “Forgive me for being concerned.” She shakes her head, “Go sleep around or whatever it is that you do! None of my business.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it?”

He sighs. “I don’t have time for this. I have plans,” as he retreats from the room, taking his glass with him. He doesn’t want the drink anymore, but it’d seem too odd to just leave it behind.

He hears her voice from down the hall. “Wallace West!”

“What?” he stops, to listen.

Her voice gets distorted as it travels across the distance between them, “Wally, if you’re doing something serious.” Her voice is starting to strain, “You need to involve me. I am your _mother_.”

He pauses, and presses his forehead against the wall. Takes a deep breath. “Iris was my mother.”

“What?” her voice a lonesome echo down the hall.

“Nothing,” he calls back.

Nothing important right now, anyway.

-

He doesn’t tell her, before he leaves for the day. Somehow it just makes more sense that way. Seems normal. It’s not how it should be, but that’s the way it is.

Who is she, trying to be concerned now. After another long span of paying no attention to him for months. Of never staying awake to greet him when he comes home. Of barely saying a word when they’re both in the house. Of complaining when he eats too much. Of judging and criticizing and supporting his father when he hits him, and puts him in his place. Of yelling whenever she loses patience, screaming in his face.

Who is she now, who is this woman, who says she’s worried. And why. For such a damned stupid reason.

And suddenly, a new thought crashes into his brain.

Maybe if his mother loved him more, he wouldn’t have become so attached to Iris and Barry.

That’s a load of shit. He knows his mother loves him. When he was a kid, she used to tell him every night before he went to sleep.

It just would’ve been nice to hear that again sometime, since then.

Iris and Barry…

They’d say it all the time. In their own unique ways. Warm hugs and compliments and praises and Aunt Iris’ home-baked pies for his birthday, and Barry’s goof around missions to lift his spirits. Iris’ affectionate voice when she’d hug him and say something like, “Your poor thing,” whenever she could tell he’d been fighting with his parents again.

He didn’t tell her about the bruises. They always went away on their own, so he wouldn’t have to upset her.

He’d told Barry once; only because he asked. Because he knew about Wally’s healing abilities, because he knew about Wally’s tendency to dodge the truth about things that hurt him. Hours spent on missions, hours spent with broken bones and twisted joints and close calls. Barry had even seen him cry a few times, because the pain hurt so badly before it started to melt away in a frenzied rush.

Barry had seen a lot of things. More than anyone, in some ways. Barry even knew secrets he’d never told his friends about. Because they weren’t things he was proud of; things that made him afraid, the kind of pain that made him afraid of being alive because it meant he’d get hurt again, things that made him want to quit the job. And the many days when he was writhing in agony, dealing with another close-call, in those suspended and awful seconds in time when he almost died. When he almost told himself, _That’s it. I’m done._

But there was Barry, always beside him. Barry, arms around his shoulders, Barry, helping him stand for the first few seconds when he couldn’t yet walk it off. Barry, who listened to the story, the real story, when Wally told him about the times when his father would get drunk and beat him. Barry, who swore he wouldn’t hurt the man, even if he wanted to, because Wally asked it of him.

Barry had seen him through it. He’d seen him through the worst of things. Him and Iris both, in different ways. Even if she’d never known half of what Barry did, she still offered him more love than he ever knew what to do with.

Her kind smile, when he’d complain that he wanted to live _here_ with them, asking why couldn’t they be his parents. Her smile, when she ruffled up his hair and kindly said that, “But your parents love you very much,” even if they were awful at showing it sometimes. Even if they could never show it like she did.

And just like that. There it is again.

A familiar sadness.

Something that’s lost, that can never be returned.

_Iris was my mother._

He lets the thought resonate.

Can’t believe he even said it out loud.

But he wouldn’t ever take it back.

-

He’s not a great cook; Wally, that is. He tries. He’s trying.

When he arrived, Barry answered the door, but he was so exhausted that Wally decided to do him the favor. He offered to leave so he could sleep in, but as a response to the man’s drawl of, “Nah, I should get up anyway,” he stayed.

Even if Barry’s currently falling asleep on the couch.

Wally’s not a great cook. He’s hoping he’s not burning these eggs.

Something like this feels too normal. Feels like this is what he should be doing. Like he shouldn’t have had to come over, because he would’ve woken up and been here, would’ve woken up, waltzed out of the bedroom, showered and got dressed and got to cooking them breakfast a few hours ago.

He’s concerned about Barry wanting to sleep in so late, but he says nothing. Wouldn’t do good to burden him with any worry right now.

Okay, that is definitely a burning smell.

He cringes, and tries to stir them around; only succeeds in making more of a mess in the pan. He sighs. At this point he’s hoping they’ll at least be edible.

His phone vibrates in his pocket. Glances up instinctively, looking for Barry; still on the couch. Then who…

He pauses, lifts the pan off the burner on the oven as he slides his phone out of his pocket and glances at the screen.

Answers it quickly, “HihangonI’llcallyourightback.” Says it too fast at first. Has to repeat it, slower. Nods, “Just cooking, but I’m almost done, okay,” another nod, “bye,” as he sets it down on the counter. Gets back to work.

He feels bad when he realizes he just hung up on Dick. That’s the first time he’s done that… since ever. Ever.

He sighs to himself. He’s been a horrible friend lately. And come to think of it, any other day, he’d be spending his free time with him…

But Barry. _Barry._

He wants to laugh. It’s almost like Barry’s his boyfriend.

He stops.

The word lingers. It makes his chest tight. His face warm. He blinks a few times and shakes his head to try to clear his thoughts. Turns off the burner. Calls out, “They’re done!” to get Barry’s attention. Hears the man stirring, as he’s pulling plates out of the cupboard, because he knows where they are.

When Barry arrives into the room and greets him with a tired smile, and a, “Thanks, kid,” Wally feels the suggestion of a blush below his eyes.

And when Barry asks, “You’re cooking for me now? What’s the special occasion,” with a smirk on his face, Wally nervously shrugs.

“I just wanted to,” he says, his voice hesitant as he’s serving eggs on the plates.

Barry watches him, increasingly amused before he reaches out, and takes over. His voice rushed but in a good way, the familiar _Flash_ kind of way, “Let me handle that.”

“But I was doing okay,” Wally whines, almost taking offense. But he’s really just playing around.

So is Barry. “Yeah, except I know how much we eat, and you don’t.”

“Yes I do,” he whines through his grin.

“Come on, look,” Barry gestures to the first plate, “Wally, this wouldn’t feed you for five minutes,” and he points to the other, “And this would feed me for days,” as he fixes the miscalculation.

“I was.. giving it my best guess?” he shrugs.

Barry smirks, “Too cute,” as he takes the plates and moves to the table.

Wally stays behind; he’s too busy being distracted by what Barry just said.

His heart flutters.

Wally didn’t know his heart could do that before.

-

When he calls Dick, he can hear his annoyance over the phone.

“Dude,” the kid is whining into his ear, “It’s like you’re not even my friend lately.”

“I’m sorry,” Wally’s whining back, his voice showing a bit of his sympathy. He does feel remorse. Really, he does. “I’ve just been busy…”

“I know, _Barry_. It’s always Barry,” an annoyed hiss.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he idly starts to pace around the yard, the sound of leaves crunching beneath the feet. Helps to burn off some of his stress.

“You’re always over there. And then you’re here, thinking about him. And then you’re over there again,” he sounds painfully exasperated, “It’s like you’re his wife or something.”

Wally stops in motion.

“I mean, I’d understand if it was some girl you were dating,” Dick whines, “But he’s your Uncle and it’s kind of creepy.”

“Don’t call him creepy,” Wally grumbles.

“I’m not,” he can practically hear him pouting, “I’m calling _you_ creepy.”

“Ha, very nice of you,” Wally half-laughs. But it hurts him, in a way he can’t fully understand. It hits a sensitive spot.

Because there’s nothing creepy about his affection. Nothing creepy about the warmth he feels when they’re together. Nothing creepy about what’s going on between them.

Oh God, something is going between them, isn’t it. Something is-

“And you fell silent,” Dick whines.

“Oh-sorry. I’m sorry,” Wally catches himself.

“Geez,” Dick scolds him. “It’s okay. Just don’t forget about me, okay?”

“What do you mean,” but he knows the answer already.

“Don’t forget about me,” he can hear him pouting. “You’re my bro,” his voice tiny.

“I know,” he gives a small laugh, “We’ll catch up soon, okay? I promise.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dick grumbles back. “As long as you’re okay..”

“Oh yeah, totally,” he says it a little too quickly. He forces himself to slow down, “I’m fine.”

“You’re sure,” Dick says skeptically.

“Totally,” he looks up, to the sound of the door sliding open.

Barry.

Dick says something, but Wally doesn’t catch it. He nonchalantly asks, “What was that,” although he has to struggle to listen for it again, an annoyed, “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” as he keeps his eyes on Barry, watching the man approach him hesitantly, as if afraid to disrupt his call. Barry’s waving to him as a small joke, as he keeps his eyes on him, and Wally keeps looking at him, Barry’s looking at him, Wally’s looking at him and-

Wally pauses; “Hold on a sec,” as he pulls the phone away from his face, and asks softly, “Yeah?”

Barry’s words are almost lost in his smile, relaxed as it is. He says politely, “Your mother called.”

Wally almost winces, but he manages a quick and faint, “Thanks,” before he pulls his phone back up to his face. “Okay, sorry,” he says into the phone.

“It was Barry again, wasn’t it?” Dick’s voice is low.

“Uh..” he forces himself to tear his eyes away from the man, as Barry retreats back inside the house. “Mayb- Yeah. Why?”

“Ugh,” Dick groans.

“Sorry?”

“Forget it.”

“Dick-”

“Just go and do your wife thing. I’ll be waiting for my friend to come back.”

“Dick, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. At this point,” his voice trails off, like he’s joking. But Wally knows better. “Why don’t you just live there? Then you’d never have to leave.”

Silence.

Dick hung up on him.

 _Dick_ hung up on him.

Dick hung up on _him_.

-

The phone call wasn’t so bad. Not the one with his mother.

She wanted to know where he was. He told her. She said the familiar comment about him “bothering Uncle Barry;” he told her that it was okay. She didn’t buy that, but she said she’d speak to him about it later. Fair enough.

He’s approaching that conversation with some dread, but for now…

It’s okay.

His best friend in the world is pissed at him, and his mother is on edge. But he’s okay. He wants to know exactly what their perspective is. What they see from this situation, that he either doesn’t, or wouldn’t want to show them. But he’s too scared to ask.

Because then the actual truth might come out.

The truth, that he’s been fondly staring at Barry, on and off for several minutes now. And the truth that, even as the man flips through channels, he’s sending glances over to him, with a calm smile on his face.

Barry calls over to him, “Come here,” with a wave of a hand, almost like a beckoning.

Wally grins a little, shuffles over almost shyly, taking a seat on the couch beside him. Sits down with a half-sigh, because he’s increasingly floaty and giddy in his presence and it’s getting difficult to act neutral. It’s difficult to act like his heart isn’t racing, like he isn’t hyper-aware of everything Barry is doing, from the rhythm of his breathing to the rate at which he changes channels, purposely slowing himself down so that the device can keep up with him.

Every time Barry shifts one of his legs; when he shifts his body slightly, and the cushion bends underneath them.

Barry asks in a quiet voice, “Are you okay?”

Wally shrugs, trying to keep his smile from spreading, “Yeah, why?”

“Your mom sounded…”

“I know,” Wally groans. “We’ve been… having issues lately.”

“Anything I can help with?” Barry leans towards him slightly, needlessly closing some of the space between them. Wally knows he’s trying to seem more sympathetic, but it just distracts him from answering. Because the closer he gets, the more handsome his face is. With his soft eyes and his kind mouth. Smooth skin and blond hair that shines-

Wally frowns to himself, “Nah, I think it’s okay. We’ll get through it.” He clasps his hands together in his lap, “We always do… somehow,” with a small laugh.

But he forgot to give it sound, so Barry’s looking at him now with some concern. He studies Wally’s expression and it makes him nervous.

Barry doesn’t give his usual, “Alright, kid,” to let it go. Instead he says, glancing away to the television, as if remembering it’s there, “I think you should go home.”

“Huh?” Wally feels the jolt run through him.

“It’s probably best if you go… you know, sort things out over there.”

“But I like being here,” he says it before he can control it. Impulsive, instinctive, defensive.

“And I like you being here,” Barry glances back at him with a smile. “But she’s your mother, kid, and you’ve only got one.”

“I don’t know.” He never knew what to say, when someone made a comment like that. And he especially doesn’t know what to say to Barry, since he should know better. He knows how much Iris loved him. He knows how often she was there for him. He knows how often him and her had to fill in for the parents that weren’t there.

Barry doesn’t respond to that, not directly. Instead he gives a shrug, and says, “But if you want to stay…” almost with relief, “I won’t force you.”

Wally smiles at him; there’s still a weight in his mind, but he needs to express gratitude somehow.

“But you’ve gotta deal with that, okay?” Barry stresses, “Don’t let your other relationships fall apart.”

Wally shouldn’t linger on the word _relationships_. But he does. Because what him and Barry have is-

He nods, “I won’t.”

He’ll fix them.. somehow. He’ll make it right. Somehow.

Barry relaxes somewhat, as he sinks into the couch and slides an arm around the edge. Wally leans back, and feels it brush against his neck. He feels a tremble run through him, a familiar jitter of the nerves as he pushes his luck a little, and slides just a little bit closer to Barry.

It’s not entirely comfortable, so Barry repositions his arm, and slides it around his shoulders.

Wally’s sure his face is showing everything right now, from his blush to his nervousness, but he bites his lip and leans against him. Wally’s face pressed against his chest, as he settles in with an escaped sigh. Barry’s hand resting against his shoulder, fingers tracing small circles over it.

For a moment, Barry turns towards him, his chin resting against Wally’s forehead, feeling the soft brush of hair against his lips. But he’s too hesitant to seize the moment, to kiss him like he wants.

So instead he sighs, and turns back to the television. Pulls him closer.

Wally slides an arm around his back, pleasantly trapping it between the warmth of Barry’s body and the couch. He closes his eyes. Even if Barry can’t feel it through the fabric of his shirt, presses a kiss against his chest.

But he does.

He hears the soft sound, the faint open and close of lips pursing against him.

Wally.

He seizes the boy’s shoulder more assertively, trying to calm his speeding heart, before it thunders out of his chest.

Barry turns towards him again, peers down at the agile and almost delicate body sinking against him. Notices his hips, his legs as they drift off the couch’s edge. Feels him breathe against him, deep and slow, watches his entire body shift and move as he tries to get more comfortable.

_Wally._

He pulls back slightly, and presses a small kiss to the side of his face.

Wally’s too afraid to look at him; too afraid to acknowledge that the soft contact he just felt was real. So he keeps his eyes closed. Keeps them closed, as Barry kisses him again, just below his eye. With a halted breath, almost a shared gasp between them, he raises a hand to trail a line along his cheek, traces across it softly as he kisses it again.

Wally’s leaning into the touch, tilting forward as Barry continues to trail kisses over his skin, soft and slow, delicate and fragile kisses that travel from his eyes to his ear to his chin, to-

Against his lips, a cautious touch. Cautious and with a faint pressure, like he’s afraid.

Wally feels a familiar shiver run through him.

When those lips touch his again, he moves slightly, ever so slightly, to kiss him back.

Barry’s hands at the side of his face, touching, feeling, savoring the feel of his warm skin they continue their kiss, a slow and steady pressure as Wally sighs against it, and Barry takes the moment to move it just a little deeper.

One of his hands relocating to the boy’s hair, fingers winding themselves into locks and strands as he continues his attention, his affection against his mouth, tongue sliding gently between his lips as Wally shakes against him, and parts his accordingly.

Barry’s losing his composure. He’s losing it fast.

More aggressively now, he pushes his tongue in deeper, almost wanting to moan at the taste of Wally’s mouth, the erotic sensation of what he’s doing to him as Wally gasps against him, his own tongue starting to move and press against his. A firm hand to the back of his head, Barry holds him still as he moves in deeper, tilting his face to get a better angle to explore inside, to taste his mouth and his spit and his hot breath. Wally’s growing weak; he can feel him relax against him, as he licks and caresses freely, aimlessly, shivering when their tongues start to massage each other.

He’s whining now, almost whining from deep inside his throat as he grows increasingly desperate, sliding his arms around Barry’s back and moving his body forward, like he wants to be closer. To be closer, he’s arching his hips towards him as Barry continues to assault his mouth, lessening the deepness of the kiss only to pull back and lick along the corners of his lips, to kiss and chew on them as Wally sighs. Or is it a whine-

Barry savors a final taste of them, before applying a more chaste kiss, one for sentimental value, one he holds for an extraordinarily long amount of time, allowing it to fade naturally before he pulls back.

Looks up at Wally, his face flushed and disoriented. And Wally looks back at him, eyes hazy and lips slightly parted as he breathes deeply from arousal.

Barry can’t take it anymore.

He runs his hands across Wally’s shoulders, one more time. Allows his eyes to fall, studies his body, his rising and falling chest, his slender waist, his tight muscles, and the vague impression of an erection in his jeans-

He sighs to himself. Murmurs an, “I’m sorry, Wally,” and hangs his head as he detaches himself from him, forces himself to let go, rises to his feet and leaves the room.

Wally’s stares after him with an expression that’s lost somewhere between devastation and affection.

But he’s a bit happy, too.

Because-

As much as he needs Barry, as much as he wants Barry, craves his touch-

He wants to believe the feeling is mutual.

He wants to believe in something beautiful.

-

What Wally doesn’t know, is that Barry’s locked in the bathroom, leaning over the sink. Resting his weight on his elbows and he's running his hands over his face, he wants to sigh but somehow that won’t work. Not enough release.

There’s no release, for this. Except the one thing he doesn’t want to do. The territory too dangerous to tread.

Because Wally is his nephew. Wally is a teenage boy. Wally is male. There’s more than enough reason to shut this down before it starts. To retreat and deny himself the pleasure of touching someone that clearly wants to be touched by him, that leans into his contact, that thrives on every moment-

Wally is his _nephew_. Wally is a teenage boy.

What would Iris say, if she knew about this?

 _Shit_ , don’t think about Iris.

She knew about his attraction to the boy. He hadn’t told her; she noticed. She noticed they were close, noticed he’d watch him for more than was appropriate, walked in more than once when he’d rush back home after a mission, to promptly masturbate. She knew he was hiding an awful desire from her, and when she guessed it was about Wally, he’d been too startled and scared to outright deny it.

“But I love you,” he’d told her, “I love you so much, I won’t do anything, promise I won’t.”

She’d been too disgusted to even cry, so instead she just frowned and shook her head. Told him to forget about it, justifying, “These things happen,” even as he could see the gradual increase of horror in her eyes. That buried sadness, a fear of her own.

A fear that the man she loved was a pedophile. A fear that the man she loved would indulge in incest.

She’d never viewed Wally as a serious threat. She never viewed their dynamic as being a viable couple, or a competition against what her and Barry had. She never saw Wally as a potential partner, never saw him as wanting to claim Barry’s attention in any way except as a mentor.

So when she’d stared at Barry with disgust, he knew she blamed him entirely. She viewed it as his problem, murmuring a faint, “Don’t ever tell Wally.” Barry had pressed his hands over her shoulders, but she stepped back, his fingers left grasping air.

Her and Wally were close. Barry knew that. _Him_ and Wally were close. But he’d never felt a need to choose between one or the other. In a perfect world he might have, because then Wally would have been available to him. But he was never an option.

Barry had always known he loved Iris.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting to touch Wally, to kiss Wally, to hold Wally, from finding excuses to reach out and make contact. Ruffling his hair, a slight pat on the shoulder, a loose hug around his back. Wally’s body was warm and pleasant and for the longest time, that was all he needed.

He never imagined he’d let this happen. Never imagine he’d lose control like this.

He was an awful man and an even worse husband for it, but it was easier to deal with before. Because when he’d come home from a mission, feeling that usual high, the need to bend Wally over and take him right then and there, he’d come home to a wife that understood, appalled as she was. She wanted to help him control his urges. She wanted to keep her husband sane.

So she’d lay down on the bed, and pretend as best she could. Would moan, “Uncle Barry,” as he penetrated her, “Uncle Barry,” as he took her from behind, while she obscured her face against the pillow.

Sometimes he would hurt her. Because sometimes he’d get carried away. His lust would consume him. His drive would compel him to thrust too hard, to move too fast, to treat her like he’d be able to treat Wally, with his strong body and his healing speed-

Barry hated himself, on those nights. Hated everything about being alive.

But then he’d go on another mission, The Flash and Kid Flash. And he’d feel such a joy from being around Wally, from doing work that came naturally to him, of running freely and taking on powerful enemies that he’d forget about his hate, he’d forget about his resentment, and would lose himself in that lighter state of being.

Then he’d come home, wanting to fuck Wally. And it’d all begin again.

It was especially bad for a period of a few weeks. Wally had a new habit of changing around him, until Barry found an excuse to make him stop. A small tease, “You should be more modest,” which wasn’t entirely fair. There was no one more humble, more shy than Wally, no one he knew. But his indirect praise made the boy excessively uncomfortable, especially when he complimented him more than once; and the changing ceased. Wally was back to being discreet.

Barry’s staring at himself in the mirror, wondering how he’s managed to live with himself all these years.

But more than that, he’s wondering where to go from here. His desire to fuck Wally has not changed since he left the room. His guilt over Iris, of using and manipulating her love for him is starting to slip away.

“I love you more than I could ever tell you,” he’d said to her casket, when they lowered it into the ground. And he did. Honestly, truthfully, exceptionally, powerfully, he did. When he said his vows at the wedding, “I am so happy to be with you,” he meant it.

But now she’s gone. And Wally is still here. His decision is not easy anymore. There’s no right path to take. Nowhere to hide. No one, no lover to bury his sorrows and ease his craving.

No one but the beautiful boy in the next room, flushed and overwhelmed with desire-

“Ugh,” he groans to himself, leaning back against the wall. Glances over to make sure the door is locked. Moves down and sits on the floor. Spreads his legs, and unzips his fly.

There’s no affection in the way he touches himself. Not today. He’s not trying to enjoy it; he’s only looking for release. To ease the throbbing in his groin, the swell of his dick so he can walk back into that room without clearly revealing his intentions. His wants and needs-

No, not needs. He’s a grown man. He’ll get through this on his own.

But when he quickly, hurriedly, furiously comes into his hand, it’s not pleasure he feels. It’s a more unique breed of…

Regret.

There was no daydream this time. No beautiful delusion. No fantasy, no image of Wally in his mind. Only his hand, his aggressive fingers, only the physical sensation.

As he reaches over, pulls off a few sheets of toilet paper to clean himself up, he’s feeling more of an emptiness than anything.

Because no matter how horrible he feels, this should have been a moment with Wally. They should do things like this together. To comfortably express their fondness for each other, comfortably and sensually and beautifully in the way that only lovers can.

The thought disturbs him; he’s troubled at how easily he was able to justify it.

He wants to make Wally happy. He wants to make himself happy. He wants them to kiss and touch each other and laugh quietly and whisper sweet murmurings and exchange declarations of love; he wants to guide Wally’s hands and show him what pleasure feels like, to touch him gently and then rough as he needs, to show him what it feels like when your partner loves you, adores you, wants you, craves you. Craves your touch, your kiss, your love, everything you so freely give, that will be returned effortlessly, infinitely.

And there it is. He feels his cock twitching again; swelling right back up.

And when he strokes himself this time, he rocks against his hand with a small groan, a sound he quickly hushes when he recalls that Wally is in the next room. Wally, face flushed, Wally, eyes closed, Wally, his eager tongue meeting his, a kiss that was a declaration of love, of need, of lust.

The feel of his skin beneath his roaming hands; the soft locks of his hair. The slow arching of his body as he tried to move forward.

He wants to go back into that room. Wants to take him right now. Wants to fuck him into that couch, wants to fuck him so blissfully and beautifully and with so much affection that he shivers and shakes against him, wants to hear gasps and moans spill from his lips, his arms around him, fingers clawing at his shoulders, legs hooked around his waist as he thrusts, and thrusts-

The beauty beneath him; he will thrust, and thrust-

And when Wally loses control and comes, Barry will kiss him all the way through it, kiss his lips, his face, he will hold him and soothe him and linger in the sound of Wally’s gasp of pleasure. And he will thrust, and thrust, but slower, gentler, slower, dwelling more on Wally’s orgasmic high than what he feels. He’ll kiss him gently, kiss his soft lips as Wally trails his fingers to his neck, strokes the sides of his face, and when their kiss breaks, Wally will kiss the corner of his lips, kiss him with affection, with adoration, with a profound sentimentality-

Because Wally is that kind of person. He’s the kind of person that can orgasm and show you how much he loves you, in a fraction of seamless time. His kisses, his touch, his whisperings. His awkward phrases, his words clumsy and honest.

Barry will kiss him again, when he comes; he’ll kiss him, and bury his face against his neck, moaning a deep and low, “ _Wally_ ,” as a final gift, the final declaration to express a fraction of what he feels.

Wally.

My lover, my-

Barry’s shaking as he comes again, shaking because his cock feels sore and raw, but his mind is delirious and light and his vision is full of dancing stars. He’s breathing heavy, he’s worn-out but he’s calm, more calm than he should be. He’s contented. He’s at ease.

When he stands up and dabs himself dry, and zips up he’s trying not to focus on the guilt.

Because he’s not in the mood for it anymore.

Not now. Not right now.

Because right now, there’s a boy in the next room, a boy he’s crazy about, who eagerly wants to spend time with him.

And he’d sooner die than disappoint him.

-

But when Barry returns to the room, he’s not greeted by the sight he expects.

There’s no Wally on the couch, calmly watching tv, waiting for him to get back. No, Wally is perched on a small kickstand ladder, leaning forward and reaching across a shelf with a paper towel, making small sounds to himself as if he’s annoyed by the process.

It takes Barry a second to realize that Wally is cleaning.

“Wally?” he asks curiously, startling him.

Wally turns back with some initial alarm, but it fades quickly when he sends a nervous smile back, “Barry?”

“What are you…”

“Dusting?” he blinks in question.

Barry laughs a little. “Why?” as he comes closer, to get a better look. It’s around now that he notices some of his books on the floor, where Wally must have relocated them.

“I don’t know,” he sighs back, but it’s more a sigh from tiredness than frustration, “I just noticed it was dusty up here and this place looks like it hasn’t been cleaned for weeks so-”

“I got it-”

“-Ifigured I’d giveitatry,” he finishes.

Barry nods at him. “I see.” He’s still amused, but he knows Wally’s hiding something. He can tell when he’s hiding stress. But that’s exactly why he can’t ask about it. He knows better than to push him, or Wally might withdraw completely. Wally will obscure it even further inside himself. So he remains as calm as he can, hoping that it’ll work itself out naturally. “Well, thank you,” he grins at him. “But you don’t need to do that.”

“I know,” Wally sheepishly smiles back, “Should only take a few minutes.” And after a calm silence between them, he turns and gets back to work.

Barry takes the cue to wander on; it’s about time they ate again, anyway. Wally’s bound to be hungry any minute now.

As if on cue, he hears the boy’s stomach rumble, a sudden jolt like thunder. Wally cringes.

Barry laughs warmly, “I’ll get right on that.”

-

Wally insists on cleaning the kitchen. Barry insisted he didn’t have to, but Wally rushed in and got to work.

He’s still distracting himself from something. He’s tense. But Barry knows better than to push him, so he doesn’t. He waits. He must wait.

Because he doesn’t know what to say about it yet, either.

Wally’s a blur moving around him; if he focuses, he can see everything he does. He’s being meticulous. Cleaning the grooves of the cabinets, scrubbing at the grout between the tiles on the wall, wiping the counter of any crumbs and examining it closely. Painfully close, like it’d kill him to leave anything on there.

Barry finds it fascinating. He never knew, never realized he was prone to behavior like this.

The awareness of something he doesn’t know about Wally is somewhat shocking. It causes him more alarm than it should. More concern than is reasonable.

He stands up from where he’s sitting at the table. Meanders into the kitchen area, and even though Wally slows a tad to get an idea of what he’s doing, he doesn’t stop. Scrubbing at the walls, cleaning the faucet, the edges of the sink-

Barry slides behind him, and slides firm arms around his waist.

Wally comes to a standstill. He shivers in a release of tension as he starts to relax, setting down the wet paper towel onto the counter. He sinks back into his embrace as the man leans down and kisses the side of his face. Wally sighs pleasantly, squirming from some want, some undefined need as Barry allows his hands to roam, sliding from his waist across and up his chest. Smooth and defined with the subtle curves of tight muscle, the fabric thin beneath his touch. He feels Wally tense and shake when his fingers brush across his nipples, and he pauses to rub against one of them, in small circles as the boy writhes in his arms. Another sigh escapes.

Wally’s starting to move against him, leaning his hips back against Barry’s gradually warming groin. Barry has to resist the urge to moan as he feels his cock springing to life, feels it pressed against his ass, knows it wants to explore, wants to indulge and push inside-

He kisses Wally’s face again. Keeps one hand firm on his chest, tracing those rhythmic circles as the other hand travels, down to the crotch of Wally’s pants. Feels him shake again, a gasp trapped in his throat as he grinds his teeth against it. His fingers press over where the hint of his erection is, press gently over where his cock is swelling and growing, pushing against the denim of his jeans-

He kisses his face again, and then his neck. Murmurs a, “Wally, forgive me,” as his hand starts to stroke him through the material, up and down the stiff member as Wally is arching his hips forward, whining softly. Up and down, he pauses to press his fingers as far around it as he can, grasping a width that’s larger than he imagined, protruding to where he can almost make out its shape.

He can’t take it anymore. He can’t-

Pressing a series of kisses against his neck, one after another, not even pulling back as he hastily unbuttons and zips open his fly. His tongue tasting his skin, the hot flesh where his shoulder meets his neck, as his fingers drift across Wally’s swollen cock, lightly tap against the head as the boy moans against him, rocking forward as Barry feels that spot on his boxers grow wet and damp from pre-cum. Through the thin material he explores him with his fingers, tracing along the grooves and noticing the firmness of just how hard he is—Oh God how is this happening—getting an idea of the texture, of the heat radiating from him, as Wally starts to murmur incoherent noises, a sigh that becomes a moan that becomes another sigh.

Another touch at the head of his cock, as he presses around it and squeezes gently; Wally gasps out loud.

That sound; it does something to him.

Oh God why is this happening, _what am I doing_ -

He pauses; he keeps one of his hands roaming across Wally’s body, continuing to stroke his chest, but with the other he gets more ambitious. Pulling back the elastic band of his boxers with his fingers, as he slips his hand inside.

Wally immediately bucks against the contact; a startled outcry as Barry chews against his neck, bites into his skin to suppress a moan of his own as he feels his naked skin against his hand, the rough and warm flesh of his groin, freshly shaven—God he didn’t even know he shaved down there—feels the warm and sensitive cock brush against his fingers. Fresh drops of Wally’s sticky cum as he smoothes them across the head, teases where his foreskin wraps around, teasingly tugs it back as he feels him tremble. Wally’s starting to writhe like it aches, as Barry continues to explore him, stroking along his length, noting the feel of how hot his skin is, how soft, how eagerly his cock continues to swell and throb against his touch.

Wally’s starting to whine, and Barry feels- he feels like-

This is not enough.

He has to detach himself from Wally. Has to remove his hand. Has to cease his touch.

But only for a moment; a fraction in time that’s only significant because it’s them, and every fragment of a second matters. In that span of time, Wally’s suspended between disappointment and fear. His eyes grow wide as he panics. Stares at him like something is broken inside.

But when he kneels in front of him, knees against the kitchen tile as he tugs at the edge of his boxers and slides them down that expression quickly changes. It changes into something he recognizes. Flushed, overheated and anxious; lust.

Wally leans back against the counter, leaning his weight against his arms when he stifles a gasp, a gasp that turns into a whimper when Barry leans forward and licks at the head of his cock. He presses the tip of his tongue against it, teasingly as if to sample its taste, to gauge Wally’s reaction, to look for encouragement to continue. But Wally can’t even look at him. His eyes are closed, his jaw is slack as he pants in silence; Barry starts to caress along the shaft, trailing licks and a kiss to the head as he pauses to re-evaluate the situation.

More pre-cum. God, Wally is either very excited, or-

Who is he kidding. He knows he’s excited. He’s aroused enough to fuck someone.

He takes the entirety of his cock into his mouth, teeth trailing gently across his foreskin as Wally shudders, and starts to whine to himself. He arches his hips forward, and for the first time Barry notices how beautiful they are, how smooth, how fair, how delicate with his bones vaguely protruding through, and the faint hint of freckles along his upper thighs. He wants to touch them, lick them, kiss them; but right now there’s a more urgent need keeping his attention.

So he starts to suck on him, an erotic and almost disgusting sound coming from his mouth, as he aggressively strokes his tongue across his cock and sucks, sucks in as far as he can, and focuses on the sound of Wally’s breathy gasps for air. Releases the pressure, pulls back and kisses the head, bathes it with licks and caresses like a kiss he’d give his lover—His lover, Wally, wait no—before he invites it back between his lips, massaging the length with his mouth, sucking as he takes it further inside—Wally is not my lover, he _can’t_ be—reaching up a hand to slide underneath, brushing against his balls and caressing them in a flirting tease before he starts to massage more firmly, more firmly as he swirls his tongue around in circles, swirls and sucks again, to the tune of another moan, a deep one this time that echoes in his ears like a song.

Wally-

Pulls back again, another kiss like a lover, trailing licks along the shaft with his spit as he chews gently along the way, and Wally’s trembling, shaking, shaking-

 _Wally is my lover_ , isn’t he-

Takes the entire length back into his mouth. Sucks and chews gently and licks and caresses his cock; fondles his balls, sliding his fingers in circles around them, between them, grasping them, stroking them. Sucks and kisses and licks until Wally starts to pant more loudly, a hesitant and nervous hand coordinating with a spike in the pitch of his _Ah_ outcry as Wally winds his fingers into his hair, Ah, as he shakes, Ah, as Barry kisses the head again, trails licks and gentle bites and kisses along the shaft, tugs back the foreskin and slides his tongue along the edge, Ah, as Wally pushes forward against him, Ah, slower now, slower as Barry speeds up, sucking him, sucking and kissing and licking and-

“A- _ah_ ,” Wally gives a low and pleasured sigh, as Barry feels spurts of hot ejaculate hit against the back of his mouth. Against his tongue, and down his throat, warm and hot, he swallows slowly as his lover’s body continues to shake, he continues to tremble against him, sighing and breathing deeply as he empties himself. Breathing heavy, he’s panting and leaning back as he finishes, moaning again as his orgasm comes to an end, leaving him disoriented.

Barry kisses the head of his cock one more time, sweetly this time, before he pulls back and looks up at him. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for. A reaction. Pleasure. Reassurance, that he didn’t just fuck everything up between them.

When Wally looks down, his face is so at ease, so relaxed, so flushed that it brings a hesitant, but genuine smile to Barry’s lips.

Wally brings a hand to his face, and traces along his jaw affectionately, kindly, as he seems to want to speak, but can’t. He opens his mouth as if to try, but all that comes out is a nervous laugh.

Barry gently tucks Wally’s member back inside his boxers, sliding them back up to where they were. He playfully presses another kiss to his cock through his fabric, as he hears Wally chuckle quietly, before he tugs at his jeans and zips and buttons them closed.

He stands back up, and Wally’s finally asking, “Did you… need to…” with a nervous look to the man’s groin. Barry grins sheepishly, “No, it’s okay. I don’t need to,” as he presses another kiss to his face. That answer doesn’t make Wally completely happy, but he downplays it by turning towards the next kiss Barry is delivering, meeting his lips directly. Barry smiles at him, and returns the gesture, kissing him again as he slides his arms around his shoulders.

The truth is, that Barry has a raging hard-on. He’s going to need to jack himself off. But the more inconvenient truth is that if he indulged it right now, if he let Wally touch him, he’d lose what little restraint he had left. He’d completely lose control.

So he keeps calm. Revels in the excitement and pleasure he brought his lover. Kisses the corner of his lips as pulls him closer. Tries to memorize the feel of his body, tries to memorize the way he tasted, the way he reacted, the way he’s leaning into the embrace like it brings him comfort.

Lover.

Lover, _Wally_ , I-

Barry’s kissing him again, in a sweet and affectionate kiss that makes them both smile at each other, pleasured and giddy and on the verge of joy-

When the phone in Wally’s pocket starts to vibrate.

-

 _I love you._ That’s what Barry wanted to say.

But anything he wanted to say is now useless. Because Wally’s on the phone, and from the sounds of it, the conversation isn’t going well. It’s something urgent. Something pressing. Something that may take him away from him.

At least for the rest of the evening.

But that’s no good. That’s no good. Because they need to talk. He needs to talk to him-

When Wally comes back into the room, he has a sort of grimace on his face.

“What’s wrong,” Barry asks, almost afraid to know.

Wally sighs, “Mom… wants us over for dinner.”

Barry immediately assumes the worst, but Wally’s quick to ease his fears.

His voice is an annoyed, but calm rush, “She’s mad she hasn’t seen mealldayso,” he shrugs, “She said, _If I invite Barry, then you have to come_.” He grumbles to himself and crosses his arms across his chest.

“She misses you,” Barry suggests.

“I don’t care,” Wally snaps back. But he immediately tenses, like he didn’t intend to use that tone.

But Barry understands. “It’s okay if you don’t. But you should go.”

Wally quickly objects, “She said you and me-”

“Wally,” he scolds him gently, gently, “You don’t need me there.”

Wally pauses, hesitantly.

“Do you?”

Before Wally speaks, he pauses to idly bite his lip. His eyes suddenly seem overwhelmed with a distant sadness, and his voice is half-empty when he stares directly at him and answers, “I always need you.”

Barry feels like the air just got knocked out of him. His breath a sharp intake, “Wally-”

“I’msorry,” Wally looks away, turning his face in shame.

Barry tries to comfort him, even if he doesn’t completely understand, “It’s okay.”

But Wally’s not looking at him. He’s backing away.

So Barry does what he can, to keep him there.

“I’ll go with you.”

-

The evening begins calmly enough. Barry’s giving his trademark smile, when Wally’s mother remarks that, “It’s been so long since we’ve seen you.”

But Barry knows why he’s there; it’s not because they wanted to get back in touch. “You’re right, Mary. It sure has been.”

She gives a small laugh, “We’ve been meaning to invite you over, but things just got so busy around here…”

Barry gives a polite nod, “I understand.”

Her face tenses slightly, “And we didn’t want to bother... what with… what happened.”

Barry’s voice is enthusiastic and kind, “No, not at all.”

The sight of such a false smile on his face turns Wally’s stomach.

“I appreciate the invite.”

The lies.

“But it’s great to see you again, Barry. Rudy and I are both glad.”

The lies between them.

“Of course. I’m happy to be here.”

Wally hates it.

“Wally.”

He looks up, to the sound of his mother’s urgent voice.

“Can you get the lemonade from the fridge?”

“I’ve got it,” Barry rises quickly.

Mary laughs, “That’s not necessary, Wally can-”

“Nah, leave it to me,” he pats Wally on the shoulder as he breezes by. It’s a small comfort during a tense situation.

Barry reappears with the pitcher, setting it down onto the table as Wally’s mother gives a small sigh. “Wally doesn’t like to do chores anymore,” with a pained laugh; a laugh chased down with a bitter edge.

There it is.

“Nah, I’m sure he doesn’t mean anything by it,” Barry’s trying to ease her temper before it starts. “He’s a good kid.”

That pressure in his chest.

“I understand you’ve been seeing quite a lot of him.”

That sinking feeling.

“Yes,” Barry’s voice is almost somber, but he’s disciplined enough to keep it light, “He’s really been there for me.”

“Oh?” Mary’s skeptical eyes, her hand pauses, fingers hovering around the glass in front of her.

“Yes,” he calmly nods, “When Iris… left us, we… both lost someone very special.”

_Barry._

When Barry says something like that, someone so startlingly genuine, Wally wants to move closer. He wants to move closer, slide his arms around him, forget about everyone and everything else in this room-

But he can’t. Not at all. So instead he stares into his empty plate, studying the decorations, small blue flowers imprinted against the ceramic.

“Oh, but,” Barry’s backpedaling, as he throws his hands up in a defensive motion, “I know how important she was to you.”

“Yes,” Mary gives a faint sigh.

Rudy cuts in, “She was an important part of our family.”

A brief moment of silence. All too brief.

“Barry, we…”

Wally’s cringing, because he knows what that tone in her voice means.

“We don’t want Wally to be a bother to you.”

“N-no,” Barry has to slow himself down, “Not at all. I appreciate the company.”

“I mean, I try to tell him,” she’s already shaking her head, “That you’re a grown man, you want your space…”

“N-no,” Barry’s managing a small laugh, even as she continues on.

“You have your own life, you know?” She sighs again. “I-I mean I try, but I just can’t get him to stay home,” as she throws her hands up in exasperation.

“Wally,” Barry shakes his head accordingly, with a warm chuckle, “Are you avoiding your mother?”

He doesn’t want to tease him. Not now. But he can’t risk it. He can’t risk being entirely honest. So he’s going with the flow. He’s playing along, hoping not to hurt his feelings.

Wally’s aware. He understands. “No,” he whines, a small pout in his lips. He’s lying.

Barry gets it. Barry knows. “She’s your mom, Wally,” he playfully scolds him, “You need to see her sometimes, too.”

“Thank you,” Mary smiles at him. But she quips, “It’d be nice if you’d remember that you live here.”

“And that you’re just a kid,” Rudy murmurs, “and you need to be more responsible.”

“How have I been irresponsible?” the instant Wally asks it, he clenches his jaw shut. Bad move, bad move.

Don’t lose your composure. It’s not worth it.

“Wally,” his mother’s lips are pursed flat into a thin line, as she almost rolls her eyes, “We’ve been over this. Let’s not start it again.” She gives a half-smile, “Let’s just have a nice dinner with Barry, okay?”

Before Wally can react, Barry startles him. Barry startles everyone.

“Has he been acting up lately?”

“N-no,” her eyes grow wide, and her desire to save face kicks in. A nervous giggle, “You know how kids are,” with a shake of her head, “Well… You know how _Wally_ can get sometimes.” She nods, “He’s a very stubborn child.”

Rudy cuts in again, delivering another cold remark, “And he’s never home. His friends are more important than his family.”

“Well, half the time it’s Barry,” Mary laughs. But the instant she catches what she said, she pauses. Stops frozen, and gives the man a curious glance.

But Barry’s not looking at her. He’s keeping an eye on Wally, who’s biting his lip and seemingly trying to disappear beneath the table.

When Barry feels their eyes on him, he forces himself to look away. “I beg your pardon,” his tone lower than usual, his words almost hushed, “but I think you’re being a little hard on him.”

“Wha…” Mary’s lips open to say more, but she stops when Barry resumes his statement.

“Iris was very important to him.”

“Yes, I know,” Mary’s nodding, not entirely following-

“He’s been through a _lot_.” He’s trying to keep himself calm. Beneath the table, Wally notices the subtle vibration of the floor beneath a rapidly twitching leg, as his foot taps against the tiles beneath. “And as his parents, I think the last thing you should be doing, is to make him feel guilty over something… so petty.”

“Huh?” Rudy’s sending him a rotten glare.

Mary says nothing.

Barry sends a fake laugh in their direction, a wide grin like he’s trying to lessen the weight of what he’s about to say. “I understand your concern, but he’s not a bad kid. He’s not doing anything wrong.”

Wally tenses up; they don’t notice.

“He’s not hurting anyone,” Barry pauses, “He’s not bothering me. And yeah, I could use my space but,” he shrugs, “To be honest, without Iris, the… The house is very quiet, and… it’s nice to have someone else around.”

Wally looks up at him, just to see the expression on his face. It’s more somber than he expects. But only for a second before he puts his smile back on.

“Hmm,” Mary’s sighing to herself. “I guess I… see what you’re saying… but…”

“The bigger issue,” Rudy clarifies, as he idly scoots his chair back a ways from the table, and stretches out his arms with a groan, “Is that he’s our son, and he’s never home. Ever since Iris’ death, he’s not been acting like a member of our family.”

Barry’s eyes are starting to sharpen as he stares at him, but the man appears not to notice.

“And it’s all well and good that you don’t mind it,” the man almost scoffs at him, “but _we_ do. He’s a member of the West family, not the Allen household.”

A sharp intake of breath; Barry’s chest shakes, so suddenly, so quickly, for such a brief slice of time that only Wally notices.

“Yes, and-” Mary attempts, before Rudy cuts her off.

“Iris’ death hit us all very hard, but if Wally’s still grieving, he needs a counselor, not his Uncle.”

Barry’s jaw is falling slack. The words are rushing to the surface.

Wally’s not sure he’s ever seen him appear like this. Like he could just reach out and hit the man.

“With no offense to you personally, Barry,” Mary’s words are kinder.

“None taken,” but his voice is a low growl.

“Now if you’d be so kind, Barry,” Rudy doesn’t bother faking a smile, “We’d like some time alone with our son.”

Mary hesitantly adds, “Y-yes, we-”

“It’s been nice seeing you,” Rudy’s abrupt and direct.

Barry manages a grin, “You trying to get rid of me?”

“Is that a problem?”

Barry’s smile fades. His stare becomes neutral and cold. He’s thinking things he shouldn’t say. Things he shouldn’t do. Don’t hurt him. Don’t get into a fight. Don’t let it get to you. You might hurt him if you retaliate.

The things Wally begged him not to do, never to do, when he saw the fading bruises on his face, lost his composure and said he’d kill him.

It’s not the first time Rudy’s cut him down. But it stings more than usual.

Maybe because he’s throwing around the word death like it carries no meaning. Like it doesn’t make everyone in the room flinch.

Maybe because he’s forcibly pushing him away from Wally.

And goddammit he still needs to talk to him.

“Rudy, listen-” Barry’s starting to put his words together.

But Wally beats him to the chase.

“I’m leaving with Barry.”

“What,” his mother’s eyes grow wide, “Wally-”

“I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Wally,” Rudy scolds him. “You’re not going anywhere unless we-”

“I’m sick of listening to you,” Wally’s voice turns bitter.

“You don’t listen to us as it is,” his mother complains.

“Maybe that’s how it should be,” Wally stresses, as he stands up. “If you’re just gonna guilt-trip me and insult Barry for the rest of the night-”

“Wally,” his mother gasps in alarm.

“I’m tired of you treating him like he doesn’t matter!”

“Wally,” Barry cautions him.

“Like he’s not important!”

“Wally,” Barry tries again, gentler this time.

“He’s important to _me_ ,” and when he says it, his lip trembles, as he has to shrug off some of his anxiety. His voice a stumbling rush, as he leans towards the man, “Let’s just go.”

“Wallace West,” his mother is scolding him, “Settle. Down.”

His voice more fragile this time, a low whisper, “Can we go, please?”

Barry knows what he should do.

He should tell Wally to calm himself, but kindly. Tell him to calm down, listen to his parents, consider their point of view. He should tell him to be rational, to realize that maybe he’s just worked up right now, maybe he’s just being overly defensive, maybe he’s not thinking this through.

But fuck that, because…

Fuck that, right now.

He rises to his feet, with a solemn, “Alright.”

“Barry, you wouldn’t,” he hears Mary’s exasperated voice.

“For the kid’s sake, Mary. He’s getting stressed.”

“Barry Allen, who do you think you-” Rudy raises his voice.

“I’m the Flash,” Barry cuts him off. “And I’m a hell of a lot stronger than you.”

And suddenly, quickly, before they can see it, he reaches out and takes Wally’s hand; gives it a tight squeeze.

A hasty whisper in his ear, “Let’s go home.”

-

This was a bad idea. This was a very bad idea. His mother is going to be furious. Not concerned; furious. His father will hit the roof. He’ll hit him harder than he ever has before. Because he talked back to them. Because he embarrassed them, in front of a guest. Because he embarrassed them in front of _Barry_ , of all people.

Barry, he’s…

He’s amazing.

Wally doesn’t know how else to think of him, anymore. He doesn’t know what else to feel about him in general. Barry is many things, but every word he tries to find and replace just leads back to Amazing. Sincere, kind, comforting, soothing, loving-

And when his mind echoes that last word inside his head, he gives a small shiver. Feels the familiar warmth rush in a jitter down his spine, the light-headedness that starts somewhere behind his eyes. He exhales, but that’s not enough. Doesn’t steady his breath at all.

When they first arrived, Barry was still holding his hand. He gave it another squeeze before he let go, as if to make sure he was alright.

And they’re not talking about it. About any of it. Not right now. Maybe soon. Hopefully soon. Probably soon.

Barry likes to take his time, before breaching a subject. Wally likes to wait until the last possible moment. So they are usually ready around the same time, when they can’t withstand the pressure or the sadness or whatever it has become.

In the current moment, they’re not speaking a word about what happened. Standing side by side, for a brief moment they share the bathroom, glancing at each other in the mirror as they’re brushing their teeth, and now Barry’s washing his face, and it’s so unusually normal compared to all that’s happened. All the stress seems irrelevant now, because when Barry pulls his shirt off and waltzes into the bedroom, this seems like the way things should be.

A shared moment in the lives of lovers; that’s what this feels like. Barry’s not acting like anything’s out of the ordinary. He sits on the bed wearing only his boxers, turns on the television to find something to watch before he passes out and seems hesitant, like he’s waiting for Wally to arrive.

Wally’s splashing water over his face, lingering slower than usual, to try and wash away the stress. But most of it is already vanishing, somewhere between the realization that this could be his life now, somewhere between the idea of what he wants and what he might actually have.

It’s not about them being lovers, or whatever they are. Whatever they’re becoming, that is. It’s about the fact that they’re this comfortable, that they can slip into a routine like this in one night, like it’s the way things always should have been before.

Wally’s thinking they match each other, as he turns off the light and steps into the bedroom. He’s thinking they complement each other, and that maybe Barry’s the kind of companion he’s always needed, when he sits beside him on the edge of the bed. He’s thinking they’re so at ease and natural around each other that it’s crazy, when Barry sends him a small smile and murmurs a quiet, “You can get in, if you want,” in a strangely innocent way that just rolls off the tongue.

Wally pulls back the sheets and crawls in; when he realizes this is Barry’s bed, his chest tenses up a little. But it’s not because it seems strange, or out of the ordinary. Because Barry’s acting like it’s normal, when he follows suit and slides in on the other side. Wally watches his legs slide beneath the sheets, captivated by the sight. This feels so normal, when Wally lays down a short distance away from him, peering up at him as he idly watches some infomercial about an exercise program. Barry laughs at it, his chest a low and faint rumble. Wally wants to touch him. He wants to close the space.

So he reaches a hand out, a cautious hand, and presses it flat against Barry’s leg; he feels what he imagines to be the equivalent of a nervous tremble in Barry, before he turns to look at him, a faint grin on his face.

Barry’s murmuring a fond, “Kid,” as he reaches down for that hand, and seizes it tightly, holding it in his own. His fingers are strong and slightly rough, and somehow Wally’s never noticed how they feel before. He’s closing his eyes as Barry continues to hold that hand, stroking it lightly, in small half-circles with his thumb.

Eventually, he makes the decision to turn in for the night. Turns the tv off. Sends the room into pitch darkness, with only a trace of moonlight sneaking in through the windows. Wally hears him move; feels the sheets tug and shift. He’s listening to him breathing, listening to him trying to get comfortable, when he finally releases his hand to fluff up the pillow.

Barry gives a small sigh. For a moment, silence. And then-

A faint pressure, a gentle kiss to his forehead. A low murmur, “Goodnight, Wally.”

He smiles, even if he can’t see it, “Goodnight, Barry,” and he wants to kiss him back, but he can’t see him well enough in the darkness. But he doesn’t have to. When Barry finds his mouth and kisses him there, Wally’s quick to return the gesture, before he can get away.

Barry laughs a little. Kisses him again, more firmly this time, massaging against his lips with his own before he lets it fade and pulls back. “Sleep well.”

“You too, Barry,” he wants to say and do so much more, but… It’s almost enough. Almost-

Another moment of silence. He presses his luck, and slides a little closer. He hears the rhythm of Barry’s breathing change, as he’s sure he’s being either watched, or studied otherwise. Slides a little closer; wonders what to do when his head is starting to slide off the edge of his pillow. This is too far, but not far enough-

Barry takes the hint. He gets it. A low but pleasant sigh, like coming home from a long day at work. He reaches out, murmurs a quiet, “Come ‘ere,” and gives him a gentle tug on the shoulder. Wally moves in. A hand on his back, Barry pulls Wally towards him, until his face is only inches away on Barry’s pillow, so close he can feel him breathing, Barry’s strong arms around his body, one hand draped over his waist.

Barry kisses him on the forehead. Wally allows a sigh to escape, as he nudges even closer. So close he can lean in and kiss Barry’s chest.

Barry doesn’t laugh this time. Wally can’t tell if he’s happy or startled or maybe even aroused; Barry just kisses his face again as a response, reaching a hand up to trail his fingers up his back, a move that makes Wally shiver, because he’s sensitive on his spine and _Please touch me more, Barry_ , he can never get enough of contact like this.

Barry kisses his face again with a quiet, “Go to sleep baby,” as Wally can feel his lips moving against his skin. It makes him dizzy. It makes him feel like he’s not even in the room at all. Like they’re in an undefined space, a vast darkness, a place in the world where it’s only them; Barry’s kisses, Barry’s touch-

A place where Barry calls him _baby_ -

Wally drifts to sleep with a small joke, “Yes, sir,” to the tune of Barry’s slow breathing, to the warmth of his body and the feel of his hand relaxing against his back, and the curious sensation of their legs brushing against each other.

For a long expanse of time, Barry is silent. He’s pressing his lips against Wally’s face in a series of slow, light kisses, even though he knows he’s too asleep to feel it now. But he likes to kiss him, because it somehow makes him feel better. It’s easing his stress. Even if he feels guilty and ashamed.

Ashamed, because what grown man would do this? Ashamed, because what _Uncle_ would do this? Iris would be appalled. Don’t mention Iris- Iris would be disgusted. _You finally lost it_ , she’d say. _You finally gave in, huh?_ with a sad smile on her face. She wouldn’t be able to look at him anymore.

When he’d once said he might lose control, she’d told him, “I don’t want to lose you, Barry.” That was enough for him to hear, at the time.

Now, he knows it wouldn’t be.

Because he wants this boy; he’s reaching the point where he needs him. Needs to kiss him, to touch him, to hold him, to bask in his mutual affection. To hold him like his lover, to crawl on top of him in this bed, to have sex with him-

That thought gives him pause. A tense, uncomfortable moment of pause, when he imagines what Wally must look like during sex, the way his face gets so flushed, his naked and smooth chest, his beautiful body, decorated with those adorable freckles, and the agility of his legs, when he’d spread them and hook them over his hips-

He’s getting hard. Son of a bitch.

Wally’s skin is so smooth; he’s warm and smooth, like the sun kissed him and never left. He kisses his neck. Hears him breathing, shallow and slower than he ever does while conscious. Lets his lips ghost over his shoulder, kissing a spot where he knows more freckles would be, where he’s almost memorized their look and pattern there-

Stop, stop. He has to stop. Because if he doesn’t stop, if he doesn’t pull back now, he’s just going to keep kissing him. He’s going to kiss him, and he’s going to wake him up, and he’s going to expose him to his shame. He’s going to expose him to his need and that’s the last thing he wants to put him through right now.

Because the growing love between them is innocent and kind and sweet and he hates that he’s even perverted it to the extent he has. He wants Wally to have this. To have something precious, undamaged by his lust for him, kept pure.

Because Wally deserves to have something beautiful in his life. Something that won’t hurt him, something that won’t break his heart. But shit, Barry would never do that. He doesn’t believe he could. Because Wally is the most beautiful thing in his world.

Wally _is_ the beauty in his world.

He finds his lips, and kisses them one more time; gently, faintly, so as not to startle him. And like he expects, Wally doesn’t even move in reaction.

Wally, _baby_ -

He tries his luck, kisses him again.

And he can’t take it anymore. He slowly turns away from him, slowly and cautiously so that he’d barely notice him moving away. And pulls a familiar trick he used to pull with Iris, when he’d find himself much like this, lying awake and thinking of Wally, wanting to put his tongue in his mouth, wanting to wrap his hands around his-

Barry reaches down and takes hold of himself, keeping a cautious eye on Wally as he starts to masturbate, slowly at first; he has to be careful not to move the bed, because he wants to lose control, wants to jack himself furiously and fast, but he can’t risk it. Wally can never know about this. He can’t.

He does what he can to stifle his deep breaths, his inherent want to gasp out loud as he starts to feel the pressure building, the ache rising, as his fingers tease the head; he slides his other hand down to massage his balls, cupping and massaging them as he slowly thrusts his hips forward and back. Slowly thrusts like he’s fucking someone, like he’s fucking into Wally, his beautiful boy, Wally, as he’d gasp and moan in pleasure, Wally-

Even the thought of his _name_ is enough to bring him pleasure right now, as he continues to fuck his hand, biting his lip to suppress the need to cry out, until his jaw falls open, as he tilts his head back and pants out silent gasps into the room, hoping to God Wally does not hear a damn thing, hoping to God he doesn’t moan out loud when he comes.

And now he’s increasing the speed, just a little, just enough to satisfy his need for more delicious friction, the kind of friction that sparks the pressure inside him, friction that makes him shake every time his cock pushes against his fingers, every time he grabs a firmer hold of himself. Every time he thinks of Wally’s body, his face as he’d rub the head of his cock over his lips, of the expression he’d make when he’d nervously stick out his tongue-

That image makes Barry shiver; it makes him shake badly, so badly he has to watch himself, because the bed starts to move and that’s the last thing he wants.

Wally can never know about this. Wally can never know about this-

Wally, with his wide eyes. If he were to wake up right now, to the sounds he’s making, the way he’s writhing beneath the sheets. If he could figure out what was going on, how would he react-

Would he touch him. Would he help- Would he let Barry touch him, would he let Barry crawl over him and suck him off again, while he finished jacking himself-

Oh God. Oh God- It makes his chest tight and his lungs ache, when he remembers what he did. He’d blissfully chosen not to think about it. To this boy, this beautiful boy beside him. He pulled his pants down and sucked him off, gave him an impulsive blowjob like he was a toy, like he was something to be kept and enjoyed. Like he was a lover, but not the kind you ask first. He didn’t have the decency to get permission, he just moved in-

And it makes him feel horrible and aroused at the same time, hot to the point where his cock starts to ache. A steady ache and tension that’s building, leaving him breathless with every squeeze and twist of his fingers.

_If I could have you…_

Thrust, thrust, thrust, his cock straining against the sheets, as he arches his hips upward, into the ghost of a body he can’t penetrate-

_If I could have you as my own, Wally._

The ghost on the other side, the imagined feel of Wally’s body, the imagined warmth surrounding his cock, and the sounds he’d make when he pushes his way inside-

_I want-_

When he comes, he does so with a slow sigh, as he closes his eyes and falls back against the bed. Massages his cock gently as he feels his own cum between his fingers, relaxing his heat rate down to normal.

He opens his eyes. Breathes deep and slow. Glances over to Wally, who’s sound asleep beside him.

He hurries to clean himself off, being mindful of not letting too much of his cum drip out of his hand when he leaves the bed and retreats to the bathroom. He doesn’t stay there for very long, just long enough to fetch toilet paper and take care of the essential business. Because every fraction of a second standing there, alone without Wally beside him, feels like much too long.

And when he crawls back into bed, thoughts of sex still lingering faintly in the corners of his mind, it’s all blurring together into an overwhelming sensation of adoration and- Oh God, happiness and- Oh God, _Wally_ -

He’s kissing him again, he’s kissing him so hard that Wally stirs this time, a questioning, “Mm,” as he turns into it. Barry traces a hand along the side of his face, and he can’t stop. Can’t stop, can’t stop, he’s licking his lips, gently chewing against them as Wally’s eyes drift open.

Beautiful eyes, eyes that shine so brilliantly he can catch a glimmer from them, even in the darkness.

Deepening the kiss as Wally closes his eyes again, and sinks into it. Massaging against his lips slowly as he runs a hand along his hairline, and brushes his fingers back through his hair.

Wally…

He can’t stop. He can’t stop.

_If I could have you as my lover. Truly, as my lover._

“Barry,” Wally finally murmurs, his voice tired and hesitant.

“I’m sorry,” Barry responds, kissing at the corner of his mouth.

“Is everything okay,” he asks, as Barry trails a kiss down to his collarbone.

“Yes,” his voice a low murmur, as he presses his lips there one more time, “Go back to sleep.”

“Are you sure,” his voice has such concern-

“Yes, baby,” that word keeps tumbling out of his mouth. He kisses just below his eyes, tracing over his eyebrows with a feather-light touch, “Go to sleep.”

“Mm,” Wally makes a small sound, as he curls in towards him, and settles back down.

_If you were my lover, Wally._

He slides both arms around him, giving a small sigh to himself when Wally slides into his embrace, burying his face just below his chin, his slow breathing dancing puffs of air across his neck.

Barry pulls him closer; holds him as tightly as he can, without making him uncomfortable.

_I’d never let you go._

A thought chases that one, following on its heels.

_I’d never let you die._

But that thought is a damning one; it’s a dark ghost that lurks in the shadows of his mind. It brings with it a sudden, terrifying regret, a burden in his soul, like an anchor tugging down at his heart.

So he pushes it away as far as he can. He retreats to the last known phrase, that he could easily agree with. A phrase he can linger and dwell on.

_I could have you._

-

Wally wakes up to a room of sunlight, and the deep sound of Barry’s breathing. He opens his eyes to the view of his back, smooth and sculpted as his body slowly shifts with each breath. He tilts his head up slightly, and is captivated by the sight of his hair against the pillow, more golden than he’d ever seen it, illuminated in the gentle light of the room.

Deep breathing, deep breathing. He crawls a little closer, feels warmth in that space on the sheets, like Barry was there only minutes before.

He’s not thinking, he just-

He reaches out, and presses a hand against Barry’s back; his smooth skin, surprisingly more soft than he imagined. He traces a large half-circle across it, and smiles to himself when he hears the man react, moving a little even in his sleep, like it’s a tickling sensation. Wally leans forward, and presses a kiss over his nearest shoulder.

And with a smile, he sinks back into the pillow and drifts back into sleep.

_Barry,_

He’s falling asleep, to that deep and slow breathing.

_I love you._

A smile on his face, as his awareness suddenly fades, shuts off like a switch.

_I love you so much._

-

Wally’s awakened by a curiously wet sensation. At first his skin feels humid and hot, like he’s been sweating; but that can’t be right. He was barely under the sheets- He didn’t think he was. But somehow, he’s wet and warm and surrounded by heat- Heat, heat, he’s so hot-

It’s around now that he’s realizing there’s a weight over him; he tries to move his legs and feels them brush against a texture that feels remarkably like skin, smooth and slightly rough from fine hairs- Legs, legs, he’s brushing against someone’s legs-

Wetness at the base of his neck, it’s not a brief contact, it’s a massage, something pressing, digging into his skin; he feels the sharp pain of being sucked on, hears the sound escape of someone sucking on him-

He opens his eyes to see the body crawling over him as the assault on his neck continues, as he feels the weight settling down on top of him, his legs immobilized, his groin suddenly warming up from a foreign contact, something that teases and taps against his cock.

Heavy breathing, and a murmured, “I’m sorry,” low and rough.

Barry.

He’s licking his neck, kissing and licking his face, tasting his skin anywhere, everywhere, as he gradually lowers and pushes himself against him.

 _Barry_ -

He hesitantly tries to move his arms; he can. They’re still free enough. He reaches around slowly, finding the back of the man’s shoulders, pressing down against them. So warm, so warm, Barry is burning up, he’s burning up-

“Forgive me,” another rushed apology, as he feels an immense pressure against his groin, the pressure of someone intentionally pushing against him, so hard he feels Barry’s own cock twitch, feels the warmth and weight of his legs on top of his-

“It’s okay,” his voice an awkward whisper, his throat only half-recovered from sleep.

More kisses against his face, as Wally trails a hand through his hair to reassure him. But it doesn’t seem to help, “I’m so sorry,” his voice laced with regret and something bitter. Something painful, something Wally doesn’t want to understand, “Tell me to stop.”

“Barry?” he questions. They’re this close, they’re this close, so why-

“Tell me to **stop**.”

He feels another kiss against his face, as he hears the man sigh against him. He sighs as he moves, starting to gently roll his hips and grind against his body. God, Barry-

“No,” he manages, almost like a curse, “I can’t.”

“Wally, _please_ ,” Barry’s trailing his teeth along the sensitive skin along his jaw, in between explorative licks from his tongue.

“No,” he sends an intentional message, sliding one of his hands down the man’s back, to rub against his ass; it almost feels bizarre. It would feel bizarre, if this wasn’t Barry, if this wasn’t a man who was likely only minutes away from fucking him-

And thank God for that, thank God, thank God, he doesn’t care how wrong it is, doesn’t care how dirty, doesn’t care if he’s misbehaving and bending a few rules. Doesn’t care at all. Because Barry is warm and hot and he smells like sweat and what he imagines sex must smell like, hot and messy and teasing with the faint hint of cum, like one of them is already leaking-

Or maybe it’s in his imagination. Either way-

 _Oh_ it’s coming from him, it’s his own-

He manages to do what little he can, as he gives Barry’s ass a gentle squeeze, trying to be as obvious and direct as possible. “Don’t stop,” his voice comes out in a sort of growl, rushed and increasingly desperate.

_I want you so much._

Barry’s answer is a kiss to his mouth, a firm and hard kiss that parts his lips and steals the air from him.

Wally moans, as he arches himself against him.

_I want you so much I can’t stand it anymore._

Ethics be damned. Morals be damned. Anyone who objects can go fuck themselves.

_I want you._

-

Stop it stop it stop it _stop_.

Goddamn you, stop.

His hands on the boy’s thighs as he spreads his legs apart.

Stop.

Small freckles scattered there on the skin, exactly the way he remembers them. He wants to lick each one. He wants to taste each one. If only he weren’t already-

Stop.

But it’s too late.

He’s pushing his way inside him, slow and slick from lubricant. He feels his lover’s entrance tightening around his cock as the boy trembles, a confusing mixed signal of discomfort and pleasure. He doesn’t want to hurt him. Can’t bring himself to hurt him. But he knows he will, just a little. It can’t be avoided. Because he didn’t take his time. Because he didn’t, couldn’t wait.

Couldn’t wait, when he woke up and saw the beauty in his bed, face at rest, lips slightly parted. Couldn’t wait, when their bodies were brushing together, skin against skin, sharing the same heat. Couldn’t wait, when his hands danced over that body, flirted with the idea of fondling, of caressing, of touching intimately-

Couldn’t wait-

Wally gasps, his eyes widening in that instant.

Inside, he’s inside-

He can’t remember the last time he felt such a thrill to be inside someone. It makes him lightheaded. It makes him unable to contain his joy, as he feels the smile creep onto his face, even as he tries to fight it off. Not now, stay focused. Not now, stay serious. For Wally.

Wally, who’s frowning to himself, biting his bottom lip as he closes his eyes.

“Does it hurt,” he tries to keep his voice gentle, as he leans down to close some of the space between them.

Wally initially says, “No,” but Barry knows he’s lying.

He murmurs a quick, “I’m sorry, baby,” before he starts to move. Slowly, just a slow thrust back and in again, to make sure he can handle it. Wally’s tensing up; he’s tensing up, “Relax for me,” he tries to soothe him with his voice, sliding his hands beneath his thighs, firmly cupping against his ass to lift him into better position.

Wally murmurs a groan that’s almost a sigh, as he brings a hand to his mouth and starts to bite against it.

_Baby._

Barry’s thrusting in, Wally’s frowning to himself.

_I’m sorry, baby._

But it’s too late to stop now. They’ve come too far.

-

Wally’s hips roll forward, as he moans and tilts his head back. He breathes a quiet, “Yes,” that catches Barry off-guard; it fuels the fire inside him. The fire, that keeps him thrusting and thrusting, faster than before. The fire that keeps him pounding into his ass like the world’s ending, like this may be the last time they ever do this.

Because it might. He doesn’t know. Doesn’t care to worry about it right now.

Because _Wally_ is beneath him, a lover that is aroused and panting and whining incoherently to himself. A lover whose cock is rock hard, whose hips are rolling in tune to his thrusts, a lover that is almost begging for more of his affection-

And he has plenty to give. Never-ending.

He hovers above him, hands digging into the mattress at either side of his body as he leans down, close enough to hear every small sigh and gasp Wally makes, close enough to see the sweat on his chest as he continues to thrust. Feels his lover’s body tighten around him, feels the immense heat around his cock as he has to moan, just a little, to keep from losing it. Needs to release some pressure, some stress, he moans again and lets it dissolve into a hasty, wet and loud series of licks to his lover’s neck. His skin is sensitive there; Wally hisses accordingly when he sucks on him, leaving a bruise that’s quickly fading as he pulls back.

There’s a sadness in his heart, when he sees each mark fade; but he’d rather not dwell on that.

He leans back now, positions himself onto his knees, lifting Wally’s body to move with him, in the name of a better angle. This will feel better. This will go deeper.

And when he thrusts this time, Wally cries out when he pushes all the way in. He can’t tell if it’s from pain; no, it’s not, because Wally’s moaning again, another whispered, “Yes,” as his lips part in another pant, low and harsh around the edges.

He pushes in again; “Yes;” again; “Yes;” again, and again, and again.

He’s watching in awe as Wally moves a hand down, reaches down to grab his own cock, wrapping his fingers around it and stroking gently, squeezing with each thrust. _Good boy._ Squeezing and twisting at the head, rubbing against it, smearing the familiar pre-cum around; Barry loves the smell of it, he loves the sight of it on his fingers.

Wally pauses and sends him an anxious look when he catches him staring; but Barry sends him a message, a small grin as he pushes inside him again, allowing his body to vibrate at a low frequency when he thrusts as deep as he can.

Wally cries out loud, a distorted and broken moan that’s almost desperate, as Barry takes the hint and vibrates himself just a little faster. He doesn’t pull back this time, not right away; he stays there, pushing deep, pushing against what must be his prostate, from the way Wally’s cringing and whining as he jacks himself off.

Pulls back, and pushes forward; gets the same reaction each time he hits against it. Feels a rush of pleasure every time he sees Wally make that face, that face like he’s hurt, like he’s devastated, the way his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are closing- Deeper, and deeper, he’s pushing in hard, moving faster, faster, not caring if he rocks the bed, faster, faster, vibrating, vibrating, Wally’s moaning, moaning, arching his hips forward.

The gentle impression of hip bones protruding out; the smooth and freckle-kissed skin. A smooth waist, a sculpted abdomen with muscles that tense and tighten every time he cries out loud. A smooth chest, _Wally is so smooth_ , a smooth chest with hardened nipples that capture his attention every time he inhales deeply, every time his chest rises and falls.

He allows his hand to wander that body; traces up his stomach, up his chest as his lover shivers beneath him. Allows his fingers to drift over his nipples, gives a gentle twist to one as Wally starts to moan to himself, as he massages it and twists and massages as he continues to push inside him; they’re a tangle of heat and limbs, one hand on his chest and the other firmly holding his ass in place, Wally’s own hands still pleasuring his cock. They look at each other; time slows down. Which must mean they’re speeding up.

Barry’s vibrating more intensely as Wally stares up at him with wide eyes and gasps, his entire body startled as Barry attacks his prostate again. _Come on baby._ Trembling, trembling, Barry relocates the hand on his lover’s chest, and repositions it around Wally’s own. Presses the boy's fingers against his own cock, starts to guide them as he massages. _Come on._

He’s listening to Wally’s sounds of pleasure, thriving, reveling in how goddamn erotic he sounds as he continues to thrust, to thrust, to thrust, his hands helping his lover masturbate as he feels the pre-cum, feels it on his fingers- _Good God Wally, you come so much_ \- but he wants to make him come for real, loves making him come for real-

Wally closes his eyes; he’s close. He’s close.

 _Come on_ ; Wally’s hand abandons the effort, as Barry is finishing the job for him, vibrating his fingers as he moves aggressively, assertively, Wally’s entire body shaking from overstimulation, shaking from the current running from his cock to his ass, the bed shaking beneath them as Wally’s crying out, “ _Barry_ ,” moaning another, “ _Barry_ ,” as he shakes and shakes-

And hot ejaculate’s pooling around his fingers when he comes, the scent of it in the air, the scent of him in the air-

Barry doesn’t need much more than that; he slows down with the vibration, but he thrusts and thrusts, thrusts and pounds into him so hard the mattress shakes with each push of his legs, thrusts so hard Wally is still crying out, crying out as he rides through his orgasm, eyes closing as his hands claw at his face, at his hair to relieve the stress.

Barry’s shaking when he comes, shaking because it hits him suddenly, the pleasure of fucking and the joy of release, like he hasn’t come for days. Light and free, damn the consequences because he feels so light and free as he empties himself, light and free as he slows down, light and free when their gasps stop, and all that’s left in the silence is their heavy breathing, exhausted breathing, ragged breaths.

The scent of sweat, the feel of it on Wally’s legs, as they’re pressed against his thighs. The scent of cum from them both. The familiar sounds of kissing, wet and rough while he slides himself out of him, pulls himself gently out of his lover. Kissing soft lips that are shining with saliva, kissing against a mouth that still pants hungrily for him, still lusts for him, still wants him, as they relax and slow their tired bodies.

Barry’s kissing his face, when he hears something so faint, so delicate-

“I love you.”

He pauses.

A hesitant silence.

_Baby, don’t be afraid._

A murmur against his skin, “And I love you,” before Barry kisses him again, “very much.”

They’re tangled up in each other, Wally’s hands on his back, his legs sliding around between and around his, sweat-covered bodies exchanging heat, heart-rates almost in rhythm as Barry trails kisses down his neck, down his smooth chest, because he can’t stop, he can never seem to stop decorating his body with kisses, can never get over the taste of him, the way he feels-

And now he’s realizing what he just said.

A rush in his heart. A tension that makes him ache. A light-headedness that makes him unsteady.

He expresses it with another kiss against his chest; and a murmured, “I love you,” drifting between them like an echo.

-

Barry had never seen Wally cry before; not until one particular night, an unfortunate evening on patrol. A couple of years have passed since then, but when he closes his eyes, if he slows his brain down and thinks back, he can still remember it.

Wally was writhing in agony, struggling in Barry’s arms as he tried to restrain him. To keep him from cringing too much, to keep him from digging at his injuries, to keep him from touching them, to keep his body as still as he could.

“It’ll end soon,” was the most he could say at the time. It was rushed and almost harsh, but it was all happening so fast that it left him little choice. He couldn’t take it slow; they didn’t have time. There was no time, because Wally’s body was repairing itself and his bones were fusing back together.

Wally was crying so hard he sobbed to himself, because it wasn’t healing fast enough, the pain wasn’t ending fast enough, and when the world slowed down around him, as he sped up the intensity of the feeling only grew. The seconds felt like hours and the minutes felt like days.

Blood everywhere, blood on the asphalt beneath him, blood on his clothes, blood on Barry’s hands as they held his arms pinned in place. Blood drying on his face, blood dripping beneath his heavy body-

His skin stitching itself back together, bones locking into place as he struggled to breathe, in the eternal space between suffocating and his lungs filling with air. He was shaking when the last rib fused itself together, trembling from the rush of cold air leaving his inner organs when the wound closed itself. It felt intrusive, disorienting, sick; unnatural. Confusing and dizzying when the final spark of pain made him want to scream out loud.

And just like that, it ended. A soothing hand massaging his shoulder, another on his opposite arm when Barry asked, “Are you okay?”

“No,” he said honestly. But he looked down to confirm that yes, he was doing better than he had been previously. He hesitantly used a now-free hand to touch the skin that had closed up, almost startled at how normal the skin felt, beneath the drying layer of blood splattered across his skin.

Wally sighs to himself. Turns to look back at Barry, as the man smiles down at him, “I’m sorry, kid.”

“It’s okay,” because it would be. He didn’t know how, but somehow, this would become acceptable. It wasn’t such a bad thing to endure an injury like this, and to come back to full health. That in itself was a miracle. He just could’ve done without the intense hurt involved.

He felt some shame for crying. But at the time, it felt justified. Because in that fraction of time, he was thinking, _I can’t take this anymore._ He was thinking, _Why am I even a hero, if all I do is get hurt._

But there was Barry, with his weight against him and his strong presence. Barry with his smile afterwards, and the somber look on his face that said he cared, and that he understood. Barry had felt this before. Barry had endured hurt like this before. Barry _knew_.

Wally asked, “Does that ever get better?”

“No,” Barry had to shake his head sadly, “But you’ll get used to it.”

There’s no _if_. No _maybe_ , no _should_. Will.

Somehow, that changed everything.

“I’ll get used to that?” he even sent a skeptical look.

“Yeah,” Barry nodded, “You’ll know what to expect.”

At the time, he didn’t believe it. But then it happened a second time. And a third.

When Wally’s body was torn open for the third time, Barry noticed something important. Wally didn’t cry anymore. He didn’t cringe uncontrollably. He didn’t need to be held down. He just lay there, remained where he’d fallen, laid flat on his back and let his healing speed work its magic. His face was contorted in pain, but he was so calm, so calm and brave that Barry had to ask to make sure he felt any pain at all.

Wally had nodded at him, “Yeah. But I’m used to it.”

There was something sad and haunting about that statement.

Because someone as beautiful as Wally should never be used to something as awful as that. But when he cautiously ran a hand along his side, where his guts had been spilling out moments before, he sighed with relief and stood back up, ready to go. It shouldn’t have been that easy. It should’ve never been that easy.

But somehow, it was. When Barry asked, “Are you okay,” he received an adamant nod in his direction, and a cool and calm, “Let’s get him.”

Barry nodded and forced a smile, “Alright, kid. You ready?”

Wally smiles back, “Of course.”

It shouldn’t have been that easy. But it was.

Wally was a tough kid. Wally was a brave kid. Wally could face something horrifying and come out ready to fight again. Barry didn’t know how he did it, or why he did it. He didn’t know why he’d never decided the pain was too much, the risk was too high, and that he wanted to quit the job.

Barry would’ve let him. But he never asked.

Wally didn’t ask for a lot of things he wanted. He didn’t ask for a lot of things he needed.

Wally never cried a lot. Never complained a lot. Never protested against difficult things or backed down from a challenge. He was a fighter, through and through.

So when he was injured that first time, facing a near-death experience and sobbing in his arms, it was a moment Barry would never forget. Could never forget. Because it was rare that Wally reacted to hardship, retaliated against pain in any way but to flinch, and bury his emotions within himself.

When Wally was crying like that, all Barry wanted to do, was to hold him. To hold him until it stopped. To hold him until the tears on his face dried up. And when it happened the future times, times two and three, Barry felt the same instinct, even if Wally was unsettlingly calm and collected on the surface.

He wanted to kiss his pain away; he wanted to give affection to take away every amount of suffering he ever felt.

When he was cut open. When his father hit him. When his mother yelled at him. When he was being bullied at school, and completely unable to defend himself as Kid Flash. When he crushed on anybody that didn’t love him back. When he started learning that he needed to apologize for everything, even things he didn’t do— _God_ , where did that come from, anyway. When he learned that nobody cared about his feelings, or his selfish wants. When he learned that he was less important than everyone else. When he became used to being ridiculed for his natural personality. When he learned to shrug off the pity laughs and the jeers to his jokes. When he learned that being misunderstood was okay, because he never felt the need to defend himself, or explain his good intentions. When he learned to never ask for love, to never demand it from others, because it was so rarely given.

Wally became used to many things he shouldn’t have.

Barry wanted to get him used to something different.

 _I will always love you_ , he’d been unable to find the courage to say it out loud.

And now, he’s thinking back to when he first realized that, when he’d first wanted to express it, the night after Wally nearly died for the third time. He’d meant a different kind of love then, but the platonic and romantic are fusing together now. His feelings are merging. They’re becoming one and the same, loving in a way more powerful than the sexual or the affectionate, loving in a way that means more than a partner or a nephew or a lover. Loving in a way that’s profound, and so strong it chokes him up if he tries to imagine how he’d ever explain it, how he’d ever justify it.

Wally’s whistling to himself in the bathroom, a pleasant little tune as he makes his way into the shower.

He loves him in nearly the same way he loved Iris.

And that thought is both terrifying and incredible. It startles and moves him. Shakes him up, but in a pleasantly dizzying way he doesn’t regret. Not this time.

Because if he wants to change Wally, he needs to change himself. To give him something beautiful, he must become beautiful himself. He must become a better man. A better partner. A lover, a genuine lover that will communicate honestly, fearlessly.

There are too many truths Wally doesn’t hear. Too many truths he’s never known.

So no matter how he does it, Barry cannot, now or ever, stop saying them.

-

Wally gives him a quick hug before he leaves, a hug that almost turns sensual when Barry returns his embrace, and he finds himself leaning into it and pressing against him.

“Bye,” Wally’s voice is chipper and sweet, and Barry answers it with a quick kiss and a, “Have fun,” as he pulls back.

Wally’s blushing. He’s blushing so much, his cheeks are so rosy that every freckle on his face could be clearly seen. When he smiles he’s half-nervous and almost afraid, “Barry?”

“Yeah, Wally?”

His smile falters a little, as he murmurs, “Is this going to…” he looks away.

“What’s that,” Barry’s leaning toward him, a hand on his back to calm his nerves.

“Is this… are we...” he bites his lip.

He puts the word out there, to see what happens, “Lovers?”

Wally has to look away.

Barry waits for a moment, trying to contain his amusement. And to deny his own apprehension. Because he can’t go against what Wally wants, so if he doesn’t want-

“Yes,” his voice is small.

Barry clarifies it as honestly as he can, “If you want to be.”

Wally’s finally looking at him again, eyes widening as they stare at each other. Barry can practically see Wally’s jaw dropping to the floor, before he collects some of his composure. With a half-startled sigh, “That’s… that’s an option?” as he fights back a grin.

Barry smiles, mainly because it holds back his laugh; he nods, “Yeah.”

Wally’s trembling.

 _Oh,_ baby.

Wally’s trembling, as he averts his eyes and seals his lips shut. He tilts his head a little, almost like he wants to nod, and physically can’t. When Barry runs a hand along his shoulder, sliding it across his back he tells him, “I meant what I said.”

“Huh,” Wally glances at him, still recovering from what his brain is now processing. This is a big deal. This is a _big_ deal. He’s wondering, does Barry even realize what a big deal this is- Does he even feel what-

“I love you,” he says it with an ease that surprises even himself.

Wally’s too stunned to say anything.

A gentle hand at the base of his neck, massaging his skin to ease some of the tension forming in his shoulders. “You don’t have to feel the same way, but-”

“I do,” Wally almost trips over it.

Barry pauses. “Wally, are you sure you-”

“I do,” he stares at him with some alarm, like he’s concerned he won’t believe him. “I…” he fumbles for the right words, “I-I want you to- I want-”

Wally’s a tough kid. He’s learned to accept that he can’t have what he wants, so he never asks. He’s learned to accept that everyone else is entitled to more than he is, happiness he can’t experience.

“Tell me, Wally,” he eases him into it. His voice cautious and faint, “What do you want?”

“I…” he loses some of his willpower, and buries his face against the man’s chest.

Barry wants to laugh, because _Wally, how can you be so adorable_ , but he doesn’t want to disturb the moment. Can’t take the risk of making him feel shame, or any regret, or…

“I wanttodateyou.”

Barry slides both arms around him, pressing his hands firmly against his back. A slow sigh, shallow and quiet. He leans down slightly, and kisses his forehead. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Wally nervously asks; he’s shaking, he’s shaking-

“You got it,” Barry smiles. He pulls him in again, kissing the side of his face along the way. Holds him close, so close he feels the rise and fall of Wally’s chest when he breathes.

Wally’s arms around his chest, hands against his back as he sinks against him.

“I’ll give you everything you want,” Barry tells him.

_And even more._

“Because I love you.”

A sound that’s something like a sigh escapes. A muffled voice, words lost against his chest, “You too.”

Wally’s still shaking. Barry runs his hands along his back.

“Hey. Baby,” he says gently.

“Mm,” another muffled sound.

“You’re… probably gonna be late to your meeting.”

Wally tenses up. Immediately pulls back, his expression contorting in surprise. He then cringes, “Why am I always late everywhere…”

Barry grins, “Well, don’t let me keep you.”

Wally pauses, with a grin of his own, “I’d like you to.”

Wally’s learned to never ask for what he wants. Wally’s learned to never ask for what he needs.

They’re making progress.

“There’s time for that later,” Barry laughs. “Now go have a life, okay?”

Wally nods, and nervously steps back, “Okay. Okay, so…”

“Yeah, Wally?”

“We’re… we’re okay?” those familiar wide eyes.

“We’re more than okay.”

Wally’s smiling, “Great,” and turns to leave.

He’s smiling as he races to the mountain, too. He’s smiling when he arrives. He’s even smiling when he rushes in and gets there late, with his teammates already gathered around in a big circle and being debriefed on the mission.

“Hi,” he announces cheerfully.

He ignores the half-amused, half-critical looks sent in his direction. Ignores the glare from the ominous Batman himself, as the man pauses, and then continues onward. He even ignores the snickering from Dick, even though he’d usually go out of his way to pout or whine a, “Hey,” to show even a fraction of his offense.

Because right now, he doesn’t care. He really doesn’t care. He’s humming intermittently between words he hears, trying to resist the urge to stop moving and shuffling his feet and scratching his arms from all the nervous energy in his body.

Those words, repeating over and over in his head. _You got it._ That statement, _I love you_. That name again, _baby_. He never thought he’d ever get to be someone’s baby.

And the sex— _Shit_ did they really have sex, he can’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t dwell on it right now, not here—but how did that happen, he never thought that’d happen, he never thought anyone would even want him like that and—Stop dwelling on it—but he can’t believe it, it’s not real, it can’t be real-

Sleeping with him and saying they could be lovers-

Stop it stop it stop it quit that right now.

He happens to notice a funny look being sent in his direction, and as soon as the mission debrief ends—confusing as it was after missing the first part of it—Megan’s rushing over to him, a bounce in her step and a smile that stretches her whole face.

“Yes?” Wally nervously asks.

Megan almost giggles to herself, “So, who’s the girl?”

His teammates start laughing.

Wally’s not just blushing this time; he’s turning a deep shade of red.

-

“You _seriously_ got a girlfriend and didn’t tell me?” Dick’s elbowing him in the side.

“ _Ow_ ,” Wally whines.

“Wow,” Artemis’ voice is a deadpan, and Wally can swear he sees her rolling her eyes, “What’s she like.”

“Um,” Wally’s already uncomfortable.

“Let’s see, if you’re Kid Stupid, is she like…” she’s continuing, with a slow shrug, “Just as dumb as you?”

“Artey,” Megan’s eyes grow wide.

“Or maybe she’s too good for you, and is actually smart. Is that it?” Artemis ends it with a snicker.

Wally sighs, “S-she is too good for me,” with a faint tilt of his head. His eyes take on a wistful look, as a lazy smile appears on his face. He shakes his head, that smile lingering, “She’s way too good for me.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Megan puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure she’s just as adorable as you are,” with a small giggle.

“I’m adorable?” Wally grins at her.

“Hello,” Artemis rolls her eyes.

“Yeah,” Dick coughs, “ _Girlfriend?_ Not single anymore?”

“What,” Wally pauses, his eyes widening.

“Don’t flirt with other girls, Kid Dumb,” Artemis crosses her arms across her chest.

“I wasn’t-” he pauses. Well, maybe he was, “Oh. So-… I. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Geez,” Dick is audibly sighing.

“It’s just that… Nevermind.” He can’t tell them.

Can’t tell them that he’s crushed on Barry for so long that he hasn’t been flirting seriously with anyone for quite a while. Can’t tell them that Barry wouldn’t be offended, because he’d take it all as a joke. Can't tell them that he flirts as a defensive habit, because it covers up for when he feels especially nervous. Can’t tell them that half of it is bravado-

“Hello, Earth to Kid?” Artemis waves a hand in front of him.

“What,” he frowns at her.

“You’re zoning out,” she clarifies. “Kinda weird.”

“I…”

“It’s because he’s in _love_ ,” Megan swoons over his shoulder. “Oh please! Tell us what she’s like. Do we know her? Well,” she pauses, pressing a finger to her lips, “I guess I wouldn’t, but,” and lowers her hand away, “Tell me anyway?”

Wally chews on his lip to avoid saying anything embarrassing. He can feel a blush warming his skin. He momentarily hates that his face always gives him away.

“Whoa,” Dick’s voice rises up a pitch, “You’ve got it bad.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles.

“ _Please_ , Wally?” Megan tries again. “I’ll bake you cookies?”

“Aw, see?” Artemis pats her on the back, “She’ll bake you cookies, Wally. Don’t you want cookies?”

“Not you too,” he grumbles at them both.

“Me three,” Dick raises a hand.

Wally frowns at him and looks forward, staring straight ahead, to an ominously quiet Kaldur. Kaldur, who’s been listening in silence, as if contemplating something. And in that moment, he raises his hand, “Four.”

Wally’s jaw drops, “Come on!”

“I am curious,” he admits.

“Okay, what about…” he pauses. His eyes widen, “Superboy?”

“Sorry,” a low voice from the back of the room. He lowers his hand.

Wally’s shaking his head with a sigh, “You know what, I…”

“Five questions,” Dick suddenly sneaks it in.

“What-”

“Yes! I love that game,” Megan almost jumps for joy. She beams at Artemis, who’s sending her a skeptical look, “Kaldur taught me about it a few days ago.”

“Only to familiarize her with a popular Earth custom,” he defends cautiously.

Wally grumbles, “I’ve never made _you_ play five questions.”

“ _I’ve_ never showed up with a girlfriend,” Dick grumbles back.

“I don’t have a-” he stops. “I-I mean.” Don’t tell them. Can’t tell them.

Can’t even tell them it’s a boy.

“Okay,” he sighs. “But _just_ five.”

-

Did they have to do this while on a mission? Talk about cruel and unusual.

They’re traveling through a dense forest, supposedly keeping an eye out for trespassers, and Artemis is asking her question first, “So. Is she really too good for you? And you can’t just say yes, you have to explain why.”

“What,” Wally whines at her as he steps over a bundle of fallen branches, “That’s like, several questions in one.”

“Wally,” Dick scolds him, “Dodging the question.”

Wally sighs, “Ihatethisgame.” But he gives in, and reluctantly clarifies, “Yes. …She is. S-she’s smarter, and more experienced-” he stops suddenly, his throat tensing up.

Too late; Dick is already laughing at him.

“N-no, she’s,” he’s trying to fix that embarrassing revelation, “She’s more experienced in life, in doing things-”

Shit; Dick is laughing even harder.

“Nextquestionplease,” Wally hisses.

“Hold on,” Kaldur holds up a hand to silence them. They pause.

They wait. To Wally’s disappointment, it’s just a bird making noise in the trees above. He groans when Megan perks up and moves closer to him.

She doesn’t wait for an invitation. She just asks, “How do you feel when you’re with her?”

“Aw,” Artemis sighs, “How cute.”

But Megan’s slightly perplexed at her reaction, since she was being completely serious.

Wally sighs. An image of Barry in his mind and he’s feeling a rush all of a sudden. Something about that question and…

He shrugs, “Great.”

“What,” Dick elbows him again; this time, Wally doesn’t even flinch. “Not a good answer, dude.”

“But I don’t even know…”

“ _Please_ , Wally?” Megan whines at him.

He sighs. “Okay.” And gives it some serious thought. He leans against a nearby tree, and pauses for a moment of reflection.

A moment of silent goes by.

“Well?” Artemis sneers at him.

He shakes his head, and when he speaks his voice is calm and cool, almost soothing in how faint and quiet it is. “He makes me feel happy and alive, like I can survive anything.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Megan’s sighing.

But he’s being stared at.

“What?” he blinks back at those eyes, catching suspicious looks from Dick and Artemis in particular. Even Kaldur is frowning to himself, like he’s uncertain of something.

“Uh…” Dick’s not sure where to start.

“Next question,” Wally growls at them.

“Did you…” Kaldur’s pressing a hand against his forehead, as he looks at him cautiously, “Just say, _he_?”

“Did I just say wh…” he takes in a deep breath, and almost forgets to let it out. “O-oh, I. Slipofthetongue,” he shakes his head.

Dick chimes in, “Are you gay?”

“Is that _really_ your question,” Wally teases.

“Yes,” he stares intently.

Wally tries to send a smartass comment back, but when he tries to speak, his throat closes up. His lip starts trembling, and his eyes are watering as he has to look away. He’s looking out into the distance, as his silence answers the question.

“Whoa,” Dick’s voice fades into a hushed whisper. He leans toward him, “Really?”

Wally’s looking back slightly; he manages to ease some of the tension in his face, but it’s no use. It’s not enough to say much. So he manages what he can. A short and rushed, “Sort of? Not entirely. Not all the time.”

“But right now,” Dick suggests.

Wally just nods.

“Whoa,” but this time it’s Megan. She’s almost cooing at him, surprising Wally with her genuine radiance, the fact that she’s probably the only happy person in the group right now. When they found confusion, she found a source of joy. A reason to smile when she tells him, “You love him a lot, don’t you?”

“Huh,” he asks in a weak voice.

“You’re so…” she tries to explain it, she sighs, “You’re sweet, Wally.”

He doesn’t have the motivation to flirt with her this time. He just smiles tensely and takes a step forward. “So, how about that mission?”

“Hey, Wally,” Artemis is trying to communicate something that’s not defined by spite. Something that’s considerably calmer, gentler.

But he’s not in the mood for this discussion anymore.

Except there’s one question left.

“Wally.” Superboy.

“What’s yours,” he sighs.

“What is it like, to date someone?”

They all pause.

Wally gives it a moment of serious thought.

“Well…” he pouts at first, then it eases away, “I just started, so I don’t really know.”

Artemis is already rolling her eyes.

“But so far, it’s pretty great.”

Curious eyes on him. Because he obviously has something more to say.

“I mean, it’s tough because no one will like it.” He gives a sad shrug, “But he’s my favorite person in the whole world,” and ends with a smile, “So it’s like I got everything I wanted.”

Silence. A delicate silence.

Wally shakes his head to clear it. “So yeah, about the mission?”

“Yes, we should continue,” Kaldur affirms.

Wally’s got the others murmuring amongst themselves. He overhears Megan saying something about how wonderful it is, how jealous she is, how great it sounds, and Artemis is giving her usual smartass replies. She’s playfully insulting him, no doubt. Superboy didn’t say a word, but he did nod and murmur something like, “I get it.” And now he’s walking alongside Kaldur, and he’s asking Superboy if he was ever taught anything about relationships here on Earth, and how much, if so.

And someone is poking Wally’s arm. He glances back.

Dick.

“We need to talk.”

-

Wally’s wrapping Dick’s arm in a bandage, as he winces from the momentary pain.

“You’ve gotta be more careful,” Wally’s scolding him.

“You’ve gotta quit dating your Uncle,” Dick snaps back.

Wally pauses. “Dude.”

“Sorry.”

He shakes his head, and clips the bandage in place. “It’s okay,” but he really doesn’t mean that. Because he knows it’s just the first of many remarks. Some more cruel than others, all bound to hurt.

“But seriously, it’s creepy,” he emphasizes.

“Okay,” as he stands up, stretching his arms out.

“No, really.”

“ _Okay_ ,” he sighs.

“Sorry.”

“You’re not,” he shrugs, “But it’s okay.”

Wally’s learned that support is not something he’ll always receive, so he won’t demand it.

“No, I mean it. Sorry,” Dick frowns at him.

Wally’s learned that sometimes a friend will say what you want to hear, even if it’s a lie.

“It’s okay. Really,” he sends a good-natured smile in his direction. “I understand. I know it’s weird,” he slides back his cowl, and runs a hand through his hair. He’s frowning to himself, “I didn’t expect you to like it.”

“I’m kind of grossed out,” Dick admits.

“Dude.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“It’s okay.”

It’s not.

“You sure?”

It’s really not.

“Yeah.”

-

When Wally arrives home, his legs are heavy. He’s moving in slow motion, managing to make it as far as the couch until he collapses against it, his face buried in the pillows when he hears the front door being pushed shut. Oh. That’s right, he forgot to close it.

“Wally,” a gentle voice, _his_ gentle voice, “Are you okay?”

He sighs, “Yeah.”

He hears a small laugh, but it’s not happy. Barry knows he’s lying. He feels the couch shift beneath him, feels the sound of the man breathing as he sits down beside him. “What’s wrong.”

Silence.

“Wally?” a hand pressed against his back, a gentle nudge.

“Mm,” it’s more a question than an answer.

“What’s wrong?”

Wally gives a low groan, “Dick knows.”

“He knows?”

His voice muffled by the pillows, “He knows about us.”

“Oh, that.” A pause. “Is he… He doesn’t like it, does he?”

“He hates it,” Wally whines.

“That… that’s too bad.”

“I’m finally happy,” Wally’s got more of a whine left in him, “I’m so happy, and my best friend hates it.”

“You’re happy,” Barry can’t help it. He can’t help focusing on that. It stands out. It’s important.

“So happy,” he sighs.

Barry’s hand starts to massage his back, as it slides beneath the edge of his shirt. Initially, Wally shivers from the surprise of his touch. But he’s quickly calming down, muscles relaxing as that firm hand starts to trace up and down his spine, fingers massaging in small circles along the way.

Up and down, as Wally’s sighing pleasantly.

Barry tells him, “I’m glad.”

“Are you,” a faint murmur.

“Am I what?”

“Are you happy,” Wally almost sounds… sad. Hesitantly somber, like he doesn’t expect the answer to satisfy him. He doesn’t expect to hear anything good. He doesn’t expect to hear something uplifting.

But it is.

“Yes.” He smiles, even if he can’t see it, “I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

Wally’s almost purring beneath his touch, eyes closed as Barry places his other hand against his back, and starts to massage with both of them.

“You make me very happy.”

“I love you, Barry.”

The ease with which he said it. That ease…

“I love you too.”

Wally’s falling silent again. His breathing’s slowing down.

“But what should I tell Dick,” he complains.

“Tell him to ask Bruce.”

“What,” Wally’s eyes fly open.

“Tell him to ask Bruce.”

“W-why?”

Barry laughs quietly. “Because,” he runs his hands down Wally’s back one more time, and traces them back up, slower now, pressing a tad deeper as he feels the boy cringing pleasantly beneath his touch, “We’ve talked about this before.”

“About _us_?”

“Yep,” he acknowledges, almost too calmly. But he’s still holding back some nervous laughter. “He noticed I was acting strange. He kind of… pieced it together that I was… interested.”

“Like Dick,” Wally groans.

“Hey, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Unfortunately.”

Barry laughs.

-

“He’s just a kid, Barry,” he’s being scolded appropriately. As he should be. By someone far smarter than him. Someone better than him. Someone that wouldn’t fall into this sort of trap.

But it’s too late, now. Can’t he see that? It’s too late now.

“I know he is,” he sighs. Crosses his arms as he leans back against the wall, eyes idly wandering to the giant television monitors, as he watches who appears to be Superman wandering through the Justice League station.

“Does he know the consequences,” stern and tense.

Barry pauses. “Elaborate?”

“Consequences. Dick was… upset. His other friends shouldn’t react any better to the news.”

“I-I know that, Bruce-”

“But does he. Is he prepared.”

“I think… If I help him through it…”

“Our peers… they’ll be disappointed in you, as well.”

“I know,” he sighs. “ _God_ , I know they will.”

“It’s soon after Iris’ death. I recommend taking more time to grieve.”

“Before what?” he pauses.

But that’s not directly answered. It’s only implied. “You should consider what you’re doing. To guarantee it’s not an impulsive attempt to deal with your loss.”

“No,” his eyes grow wide, “No. I know it isn’t.”

Silence. He’s listening for a better explanation. He’s patient when he needs to be.

Barry’s watching him now, staring at a man who’s surprisingly easy to approach with his fearsome cowl pulled back. A man whose eyes are dark but calm, face sharp but neutral as he stares back with a significant lack of critical reaction, an almost surprising lack of judgment. An overwhelming rationality.

“Come on, Bruce,” he sighs. “You know I… You _know_ how long I’ve liked him.”

“I recall that, yes.”

“W-well, then…”

“I find it to be as reckless and dangerous now, as it was then.”

Barry frowns at him. “How can you say that…”

“You’re endangering his well-being.”

“But you know I’d never hurt him-”

“You’re not the risk, Barry,” he uses his name in a rare moment of heavy emphasis, “What’s dangerous is the collective opinion of everyone else.”

“Can’t we just…” he sighs. “Can’t it be a secret, then.”

“Do you believe that’s possible.”

The way he says it, means he doesn’t think it is.

Barry’s sighing again, because he knows he’s completely right.

“I’ll take the blame, then. Tell them it’s my fault, if they find out.”

“And what about Wally, with his team-”

“Can’t you talk to Dick? He’s your… I mean, not exactly, but he’s almost like your son. If anyone can talk sense into him-”

“That would solve little.”

“It would help Wally’s teammates to understand. Just a little.” His hands are waving around, like he’s trying to coax the air into believing him, “They respect him, Bruce. They’d listen to him, if he really tried…”

Uncharacteristically, Bruce sighs. It’s a foreign sound from him, lacking volume, more of a deep breath than a sound.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“I realize that.”

“Make sure he understands.”

“And? Then what?” He grins cheekily, “You’ve gotta have more to offer me. Come on, throw me a bone here.”

“If he agrees. If he consents.” He pauses.

Barry waits, almost scared to hear what he’s going to say next.

A hand cautiously pressed against his mouth, as he idly bites his fingers for a brief instant in time, before pulling it away. He’s looking at Barry with an expression that’s more considerate than he has been, his eyes relaxing slightly. “If you are prepared for the consequences.”

“Yes,” Barry almost whines.

“I will do what I can.”

“Bruce…”

“I can speak with the League. I can argue your case, but don’t expect a miracle. Life doesn’t work that way.”

“Bruce, I… I don’t know what to say,” he wants to smile, but he’s too startled. A strange tug at his heart, like he’s slowly, slowly being overwhelmed.

“Say that you’re prepared.”

“Yes, sir,” he nods.

“Get ready for the fallout.”

-

When Wally leaves for school in the morning, he gives Barry a hug and a kiss goodbye. Barry wishes him a good day, and Wally smiles back that he’ll try his best. And even when school sucks, even when the day is too long and the hours are miserable and boring, he can sit in that monotonous silence and feel a pleasant buzz, the kind of buzz that starts in his heart and dances through his entire being.

When Wally goes on missions, it’s not as difficult as he imagined it’d be. It’s not as awful as he expected. His friends look at him funny, if he gets too lovesick. If he acts too giddy. Megan finds it adorable, and Superboy is mostly confused. He still asks strange questions. Questions like, “How do you date someone that’s older than you,” and “If he’s your Uncle and your boyfriend, does he act more like a boyfriend or an Uncle.” That was a fun one.

Dick’s not used to it. Not yet. He’s waiting. Waiting, waiting.

But it’s worth it. The stress. The tension.

When he arrives home, and Barry kisses him, he feels a joy that renders him speechless. A joy that becomes more than one kiss, a series of kisses that becomes touching, feeling, hugging, holding and cuddling together, often falling into the couch and grinding against each other amidst the licks and kisses and touches and fondling and tasting and teasing and eventual sex.

It’s not a bad life.

Sometimes they’ll lay on that couch, tangled in each other for hours. Kissing, touching, basking in heat and sweat and trying to cool down from the frenzy. Television on in the background, quiet and low, the useless air conditioning rattling in the walls.

They’ll kiss some more. Shower, at some point. Rush through a large dinner, to sustain them for several hours. Because Barry has patrol to go on, and Wally usually has homework to occupy himself with in those last few hours of the night. Now that Barry’s getting more involved in League activities, back to being the active member he used to be, he’s coming home later and later.

When he does arrive home, Wally’s usually already asleep. Barry’s considerate of that fact, moving silently through his nighttime routine, careful not to disturb him when he crawls into the bed beside him. But Wally likes to be woken up, so he doesn’t feel lonely while he sleeps. So Barry gives him a small nudge on his shoulder, or a kiss on his face, something gentle and kind. Wally stirs slightly, just enough to know he’s there, and either smiles or sighs pleasantly when he says, “Goodnight, Barry.” And the reply, “Goodnight, baby,” with an arm around him as he moves in closer.

 _Goodnight, baby._ He never gets tired of saying it.

When Barry wakes up in the morning, Wally’s already prepared coffee. He’s responsible like that. On his days off he often does laundry while he works on homework. He kept the habit of dusting the room when he’s restless. When he’s out on a long mission, he’ll call him discreetly, to check in.

Barry answers his phone with a casual, “Hey, baby,” once he’s alone enough to talk.

He talks to him like his lover. No, not just that. His partner. They’ve been over this, now. They’ve discussed this. Decided it.

Wally calls his mother sometimes. He occasionally visits home. But his parents know he doesn’t intend to stay.

He didn’t tell them about him and Barry. Will never tell them about him and Barry. He will go to the grave with that secret. But it’s remarkably easy to hide. Once he told them he was seeing a boy, once they decided he was gay—ignoring the fact that he’s bisexual, as he tried to say—they lost interest in meeting his boyfriend. “As long as you’re happy,” his mother had even remarked. Of course he was.

He was, he was.

Dick does come around eventually. It’s just not easy. It’s never easy. And it takes a difficult confession on Dick’s part, to make any of it possible.

Dick is as uncomfortable as he had been. “I… think I understand,” he says.

“Why now, all of a sudden?” Wally can’t hide his skepticism.

Before them, Gotham lights are sparkling in the distance. The night air is cold and quiet, save for the distant roar of traffic, the shaking tracks of a railway train echoing through the city.

When Dick says it, he almost sounds scared. “I think I get it. Sort of.”

“How,” because he’s too scared to believe it.

“I…” his voice is smaller and tinier than Wally had ever heard it before. “I think I like boys.”

Wally’s eyes widen. He tries to suppress his immediate giggle, “Really?”

“Don’ttellanybody,” he hushes him immediately.

Wally’s giggling a little, as he says, “Okay. But that’s not the same thing as…”

“Wait.”

“What,” Wally stares back in silence.

“You’re okay with it? Just like that?”

“Yeah,” Wally nods slowly. “Is there a reason why I shouldn’t be?”

Dick stares back at him; blinks once, before he looks away in what appears to be shame. “Oh. Wally…”

“Yeah?”

“Is it that easy to just… accept someone?”

Wally tilts his head.

“I mean, you’re so… I just told you I… I might be gay.”

“Yeah,” Wally nods.

“And you’re… okay with it.”

“Totally.”

Dick sighs. But as he remains silent, a smile forms at the edge of his lips. “Thanks.”

“No problem-”

“And sorry.”

“For what…”

“You’re not disgusting. And it’s really not that creepy. Barry's not that bad, and I guess... if he's nice to you... I.. I get it.”

“You’re just saying that to be nice.”

Dick elbows him in the side.

“ _Oww_ ,” he whines.

“You don’t think I could come around?”

“I don’t know?” but he’s laughing.

“Give me some credit. I’m your _bro_ ,” he emphasizes.

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckles to himself. “Okay, so you _are_ my bro…”

“Yeah, duh,” Dick rolls his eyes.

“Now tell me about the boy you like.”

For the first time since he’s known him, Dick’s face turns red.

“Whoa,” Wally’s eyes grow wide. “You’ve got it-”

“Don’t even say it,” he hisses.

“Bad,” Wally grins.

-

“They found out,” Wally’s voice is soft and delicate, as he trails his hands over Barry’s shoulders.

“Yes,” he moves in closer, his face settling against his lover’s chest as they sink into the bed.

“Are they mad at you,” Wally’s concern is evident. A hand winding itself in Barry’s hair; his breathing is slowing down.

But Barry’s is speeding up; just a tad, the hint of an erratic beat. A stress. A tension. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” Wally’s running his hands down along his back, massaging in circles.

But Barry’s laughing, of all things.

“What,” Wally whines at him.

Barry’s tone amused and playful, “That’s cute. I like that.”

_Honey._

“Keep that one.”

Wally scolds him. “Barry,” even as he masks his own amusement, “Remember, we were talking? About something important?”

“I love you,” Barry suggests as a change of topic.

“ _Barry._ ”

“Relax, baby. It’ll be okay.”

Because in time, it will be.

Because Barry has learned that life really does work like that. Sometimes you can get what you want. Sometimes you can have what you ask for.

Sometimes the person you love can genuinely, deeply, honestly love you back.

Even when you endure a great loss. When everything you know is shattered, what little remains in place, what little remains and intensifies- When his love for Wally remained in his heart and grew into something beautiful.

“I love you,” he says it again; he’s being sincere this time.

Wally laughs softly, and kisses the side of his face.

“I love you too, honey.”

-

Sometimes Barry still thinks of Iris.

He remembers the night of their honeymoon especially, when they stood out on a balcony that overlooked the ocean. Watched the moon fall into the ocean, watched the waves swell and rise with a coming storm. Felt the warm wind against their faces, and laughing, stepped back inside. Closed the windows and watched a storm fall across the shore, trees swaying, leaves flying everywhere, flower petals scattered through the air.

He wrapped his arms around her, and told her he was the happiest man alive.

And at the time, he was. He was happier than he’d ever been. There was no memory he’d ever experienced, nothing that compared to the pride in his heart, the warmth in his chest, the joy in his soul when he’d see the ring on her finger. Kiss her smiling mouth, hear her pleasant laugh, and the way it’d fill the room. He was listening to her teasing about the storm, daring him to run out into it, to see how long he could stand out there.

“That might be a hurricane,” he laughed. “I might get carried away.”

“Barry Allen,” she’d scolded him, “You’d better call if you get carried too far.”

He’d laughed. Laughing came easy, in those days.

It wasn’t easy to laugh anymore. Not since she passed on. Not for a while after. It wasn’t easy to laugh when members of the League would send him dirty looks, thinking he’d moved on too fast. The politely buried looks of disappointment when they found out he was messing around with his sidekick. The angry rants and tirades sent in his direction, cruel names being thrown around, judgments that belittled what he felt, what Wally felt, what they were both capable of.

But when they’re alone together…

When they’re alone together, it reminds him of a better time. A time when laughing didn’t hurt. When it wasn’t impossible to feel light, to feel happy, to sink against someone and listen to them breathing without any regret or concerns in the world.

When they’re alone together, he can laugh, and laugh.

A storm in the distance, heavy winds wrapping around them as he and Wally are hiding in an alley, for the worst of it to roll by. Winds do heavy damage when you move too fast; it’ll throw you off-course. So they’re waiting, and he’s listening to the trees bending, the branches creaking, the leaves scattering-

He sneaks a kiss to his lover’s face, discreetly, quickly.

When Wally looks at him, he still feels a flutter in his chest.

It reminds him of how he felt with Iris, but it’s not the same at all.

Wally’s smiling at him, saying he’s silly, even as he hides his blush and turns away.

“I am so happy to be with you,” that’s what he told her, on the sunlit afternoon when he married her. And he meant it. He meant it more than he’d ever meant anything before. His happiness with her was distinctly different than any kind of happiness he will ever feel with Wally.

But that’s okay. Because it’s not more or less powerful. It’s equally as profound. Equally as beautiful. Equally as stunning. It has the same power; to shift his world, to make him feel unsteady and dazed when he looks at him for too long, when their hands brush against each other, when he leans against his chest. When he holds him, he feels a new happiness, one he’s never known before.

Because this is the joy he feels with Wally. This love is different than any other. He will never love anyone, in the same way he loves him.

He’s able to let Iris go. He's reached a point where he can look at the anniversary of her death without wanting to cry. He’s accepted that he will never love anyone in the same way he loved her. He will never feel the way he felt around her, that exact way, ever again.

But what he feels now is equally as beautiful.

Three months ago, his world came to a halt. His life slowed to a crawl. It hurt to move, hurt to breathe, hurt to exist. But now…

Now…

He pulls Wally close; a whisper in his ear, “Thank you.”

-

Woke up and wished that I was dead, with an aching in my head. I lay motionless in bed. The night is here and the day is gone, and the world spins madly on.

I thought of you and where you'd gone...  
**And the world spins madly on.**


End file.
